Peripheral
by duathkaimelar
Summary: As the months of their partnership become years, Booth and Brennan learn that the little moments are the most crucial to their evolution.  Booth/Brennan, set throughout the series.
1. Part I: 2004:2006

**Peripheral**

Summary: As the months of their partnership become years, Booth and Brennan discover that the little moments are the most crucial to their evolution.

A/N: These snippets are meant to be either extensions of or additions to the canon universe, until "The Parts in the Sum of the Whole" (April 2010). Booth chooses not to reveal his feelings for Brennan during That One Scene, and their lives – and their relationship – take a different course.

/

**Part I: 2004 – 2006**

"_It's so many miles and so long since I've met you"_

_/_

**September 2004**

In the one year in which they did not speak, he began reading her novels.

Although it was not the first in the series, he starts with the book she publishes only a few months after their night of tequila and disagreements.

Immediately he finds himself drawing comparisons between the characters in the book and the seemingly ragtag team of scientists he had witnessed finding the answers in less than a third of the time it had taken his team. He starts to understand a little better the faith – although she would never use that word – Brennan held in them.

Most important to him are the insights he thinks he gains about _her_ by reading her fiction. His instincts had told him from the moment they met that there would be more to her than met the eye, but he had never expected the unadulterated passion in which she treated the world in her books, from forensic anthropology and blood tests to justice and trust, and shorelines and sunsets.

He finishes the book within two days. He tries to forget the 'symmetrically-pleasing' FBI agent that Kathy Reichs has reluctantly taken a liking to. Instead, he pictures the author relaxed on her couch, sitting in sweats with coffee and her laptop. He remembers the exhilaration he had felt while working with Temperance Brennan.

He wonders why he had been so quick to slice through her, accusing her of being all these things he wasn't even sure she was. It was true that he certainly had never met anyone like her before, but somehow, Booth suspects her ten-dollar words, her stand-offish presence, and her aptitude for her job were not what had irked him. In fact, although she is beautiful, her looks are not even what he remembers first.

The haunted look that he had seen in her eyes, just a flicker at a time, was what kept him pondering when the night was dark and the ground was cold.

/

**Late July, 2005**

Halfway through his lunch meeting, it occurs to Booth that he is within minutes of the Jeffersonian Institute.

He cannot help but smile and chuckle lightly. His fork slips out of his hand, and Cullen pointedly asks him what strikes him as so funny. With a brief apology, he makes the excuse that his hands slipped after noticing the sarcastic sign above the cashier. Cullen doesn't really buy it, but he pretends to, so he shakes his head before continuing with his discussion of details on a trial they would both be testifying at in the coming months. Although Booth knows very well how crucial it is to give this case his full attention, he cannot help but be distracted.

Never mind their latest case from hell. While absently munching on the last of his fries, his mind flashes him back to a cool summer evening, barely more than a year ago. Standing next to Dr. Temperance Brennan, he had found his mind, his body, part of his heart set on fire, triggered by her arrogance and her proximity, her intricacies and her physical attractiveness, and, of course, her unbridled passion that she masked so easily. He'd found himself eager to experience more of this woman; experience if she placed as much care and detail into her sexual encounters as she did her work. He knew very well she had felt the same desire, and yet she had declined, citing their drink of choice as a reason not to fall into bed together.

Booth snickers. Some excuse that was.

Again noticing his distraction, Cullen asks him if he is interested in any dessert. He must have replied that he wouldn't mind a slice of apple pie. He's not really hungry anymore, but he needs _something_, some indulgence to sublimate his true desires, something to quickly bring his mind back from those particular memories.

Booth prides himself on accurately unraveling just who a person _is_. It never takes him very long to figure anyone out, but even after working on a case together, he isn't quite sure about Brennan. For the life of him, he can't come up with a reason as to why their single case had stuck with him so fiercely. At least, he can't come up with a reason beyond their obvious attraction, but he knows there's more to it than that.

It hadn't taken much for Booth to convince himself that their paths would cross again someday. He was more sure of this now than he had been a year ago. Two people didn't share that level of chemistry the first time they worked together unless they were meant for something greater.

At any rate, the woman is _brilliant_, though he's certainly not going to tell her this to her face. It's not like she needs an ego boost. He prefers to remain solo in the bureau these days, but he may not mind so much if she was his partner. Convincing her to agree to that would be another story altogether – but he's not going to try to fool himself, or her. They both know exactly why they fought. It really had very little to do with their work.

She is brilliant, and she is willful. She would be a challenge. Booth had always enjoyed a challenge.

Their brief but rather intense kiss flashes through his mind.

He remembers the satisfaction of Brennan punching that judge flat in the nose.

He feels the temptation of bringing her in, both to end the sleepless nights he's already had on this case, and for the entertainment.

He resumes the tapping of his fork against the table.

Perhaps it's time to cook up a way to convince the good doctor to help him on another case.

/

**Early September, 2005**

The newly established partners are silent as they walk together through the cemetery, unknowingly establishing a basis for equilibrium.

Brennan isn't entirely sure she's made the wisest decision in agreeing to this partnership with Booth. She has no hypothesis regarding the outcome, no real reason to believe it – they – will work, but she _is_ curious about the field. She isn't about to quit, not after he's agreed to allow her to be fully involved.

She won't realize for a while just how new this world will be for her, but there are certain kinds of change that she's never been resistant to. She finally breaks the silence while hiding a smile.

"You didn't have to corner me in an airport to ask for my assistance, Booth."

Booth turns to her with a small grin on his face.

"Would you have preferred it if I had called you up for coffee and a light chat?"

Brennan huffs and replies, "I wouldn't have answered."

"Well, then, there you go," he temporarily turns his attention from her to scope out their surroundings, "It turns out that I probably did have to corner you."

"I guess I can't really blame you," she points out as they approach his vehicle, "You never would have solved this case without me."

"Don't flatter yourself, Bones," he mutters.

"Don't call me 'Bones'."

/

**Late September, 2005**

Booth remembers the first time Brennan does not object, at least openly, to his given moniker for her. They finish up their fourth case together, minus the paperwork, just past 8pm on a Thursday, and Booth begrudgingly agrees to return to Brennan's office that night to finish the paperwork, his only stipulation being that he needed sustenance first.

He has a difficult time determining whether Brennan is annoyed with his reluctance or simply impatient when she practically bolts out of the SUV, even before he's shifted the vehicle into park. He spends little time contemplating her at the moment, however, because he's just as impatient as she and definitely hungry, so he swiftly exits the car and walks straight to the counter, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Brennan has secured their usual table.

He orders a cheeseburger, fries, and, of course, a slice of apple pie for himself, and then turns his head and practically shouts, "Whaddya want, Bones? Just a salad?"

Without turning her attention away from her phone, she replies, "Yes, that's fine."

He orders extra fries for himself, just in case, and smiles.

/

**December 2005**

The morning after Christmas, she sends Booth a text message.

_Sometimes, what you are looking for is right in front of you, even if you try to keep it hidden_. _I'll see you when I return, Booth._

She is referring to the Christmas gifts from her parents that she had kept with her but refused to open for so many years. Booth doesn't know this, though he suspects, and hopes, that after solving Lionel's case and giving a grandmother the most valuable gift of her life, that she's thinking of her parents with fondness and seeing how life moves on.

Deciding to get up and make Parker breakfast, he pulls on his robe and types a message of his own.

_Parker says Merry Christmas again. Have a good trip. Take lots of pictures, and bring me back a souvenir! Try to make BOTH of those requests include items other than old bones and skulls, okay?_

He laughs when he receives her final message in return.

_Refrain yourself from tricking me and ambushing me at the airport and you've got yourself a deal._

_/_

**January 2006**

As her flight is landing back in D.C., she finds herself thinking about Booth. She wonders if he enjoyed New Years, as he has, in great detail, explained to her his lavish New Years plans and why the night is such a big deal. She wonders if he spent time over his holiday with Angela and Hodgins, and if the FBI has had any pressing cases requiring her attention, although she knows Zach is more than capable.

She always enjoys her December vacations, but for the first time, she spent at least a part of it wondering about her job at home.

Brushing the screen on her phone with her thumb, she thinks of Booth's request for photos and a souvenir. She smirks when she predicts the look on her partner's face after seeing her pictures. She is no amateur photographer, even when her focus is on landscapes rather than bones and sediment.

After making her way through baggage claim and hailing a cab, she dials his number without a second thought.

"_This is Booth._" He sounds bored, and somehow she's more confident.

"Hi Booth," she greets simply.

"_Bones!"_ He sounds excited, and she smiles, just a little. _"Are you back? Thank god – I promise I'll put up with your anthropology mumbo-jumbo for a whole week without a sarc__astic comment if you come back to work tomorrow. Zach's a bright kid, but he's driving me up the wall."_

"I find Zach to be an intellectually stimulating companion," she defends, "I can perhaps see how that would bore you."

"_Aww, Bones," _ he whines, "_Is __that any way to greet a friend after you've been gone for so long?_"

"I was barely gone a week!" She argues. "But don't concern yourself – I was planning on returning to work tomorrow morning at my usual time. Are you busy? I thought we could meet at the diner. I would like to hear about the cases that I have missed, and I have photos already loaded onto my laptop. Also, I brought you a souvenir, as requested."

"_You DID listen to me!_" He exclaims. He sounds as excited as a little kid. "_Of course! Meet you there in 20_?"

/

**March 2006**

Two days after Booth is discharged from the hospital, Brennan picks him up from his apartment after she leaves the lab for the night and takes him back to her place. Although he is surprised at the gesture, he's been stuck in his apartment, as both his doctor and Cullen have forbidden him from returning to work until he has properly recovered, so he's glad to get out for the night.

He's disappointed that his pain killers are preventing him from enjoying Brennan's beer stash, but after she fusses over him and is sure he is comfortable on her couch, she brings him a soda, the sports section from the newspaper, and puts Audioslave in her CD player, and Booth decides that his night is going alright, after all.

She cooks a homemade pizza for dinner, and even though it's vegetarian, he thinks it's fantastic. She smiles when he tells her so. After eating she excuses herself to the bathroom for a minute, ordering him to stay where he is and remain comfortable. He feels bad about her waiting on him all night, and it's not like he can't _walk_, so he heads toward her fridge to fetch himself another drink.

She exits the bathroom just in time to see him reaching to open the door. He doesn't see her freeze, or her eyes widen, but he does hear her rushing towards him and feels her yank his hand back just before he would have gripped the door handle. He turns to look at her, confused, and notices the look in her eyes. The hand that is holding his is shaking.

"Booth." She whispers. It's all she says, but it is enough.

"It's alright," he tries to reassure, moving her hand to his chest where she can feel his heartbeat.

After moments of silence, holding each other's gaze and Brennan feeling his heartbeat, she takes a breath and says, "Sit back down. You should be resting. I'll bring you anything you need."

"I'm fine, Bones, really."

She knows he isn't really referring to his physical injuries, but she falls back on them as an excuse anyway. She has no argument, no appropriate way to explain her unease.

"You should still be resting."

After a moment of stillness, he nods his head and hopes she will take the hint to follow his lead. Still holding her hand, he moves it from his chest towards the handle of the fridge, and then he tilts his head in her direction.

Finally catching on, she straightens her stance, eyeing the handle as if it were a set of bones. Then she nods at home, and he moves their joined fingers toward the handle.

They are a team, and they will overcome this particular fear together.

/

**April 2006**

Booth makes a habit out of bringing her take-out in the middle of the night after the first few times he had done so and he had interpreted her lack of protest as her approval. Sometimes Booth came when he knew she was upset, and sometimes he came when he merely suspected that she was. Sometimes he came when _he_ was upset, and sometimes he came just because. Sometimes she was more receptive to his company than others, but she never turned him away. He wouldn't necessarily show up at her door at the same time in the night, and eventually she grew tired of racing to the door from the bathroom or her bedroom or forcing herself, half-asleep, off the couch to let him inside.

After a particularly difficult case one week, she leaves the door open late on a Tuesday night, expecting his company. Her reasons are, of course, entirely logical. His arrival will be easier if he doesn't have to wait for her to open the door when he is carrying heavy bags of take-out, and she won't have to interrupt her sudden literary inspiration to open the door for him.

When he knocks and she distractedly calls, "It's open!", he enters her apartment without a word, places the food on the counter, and immediately turns to her, furious with what he believes is carelessness. He spends the rest of the night saying things like, _How could you even be sure that was me?_ and _Do you realize that just anyone, someone upset from our cases, a serial killer, some drunk, could have walked throug__h this door just now?_

She tells him that she knew it was him because he is very predictable, and that it is ridiculous to live with such paranoia, but she is learning to appreciate how real his fears are to him, and although she hates giving in to his alpha-male tendencies, Temperance Brennan knows how to pick her battles, and she concedes that submitting, this time, might be easier.

She always keeps her door locked after that night, but has a spare key made for him the next day; Russ is the only other person she has made a spare key for. She hands it to him casually in the SUV when he picks her up in the morning. She tells him to keep it.

/

**August 2006**

Booth remembers the first time he discovered Brennan's soft spot for chocolate milkshakes.

The air conditioning in his SUV chooses the midst of summer and a streak of four days in upper 80-degree weather to take a vacation. As if that's not bad enough, he forgets to mention this little fact to his partner until after he picks her up at the lab one morning, and then spends the entire ride to the crime scene listening to her criticize him for not telling her so that they could take _her_ car for once.

By the time they have a break for lunch, he feels so overheated that he isn't hungry at all, but is wishing they had time to stop at his apartment so he could take a cold shower. Unfortunately, about all they can manage is a quick stop, and he's tempted to skip it so that he can get home sooner but Brennan insists they at least stop somewhere to purchase more water. Besides feeling overheated, he has a splitting headache, and wants to argue with her when she lectures him about heat exhaustion and heat stroke and his apparently flushed face, but he's too hot and she looks a bit flushed herself, so he pulls over at a small local café.

"You're always whining about my alpha-male tendencies," he mumbles while resting his head back, "Why don't you go order us some drinks and I'll hold down the fort?"

"You're sitting in a car, not in a fort," she replies, "and I think you would benefit from standing inside for a moment, where there is air conditioning."

"If I stand up, I might pass out."

Her brow furrows and he can tell she wants to push him, but apparently decides against it because she pats his thigh and says, "I'll be right back."

He closes his eyes until she returns, willing his headache to subside. When he hears footsteps approaching the vehicle, he opens his eyes and turns his head towards her. She dumps six bottles of water into the seats between them, and hands him a small strawberry smoothie.

"See if you can stomach that," she suggests, "It might help."

After chugging an entire bottle of water, he takes a few sips of his smoothie through the straw.

"You're feeling ill," she points out unnecessarily, "Let me drive."

"No."

"Booth!"

"I'm not supposed to let anyone else drive this car."

"I'm sure that will still matter when you crash it because you can't think clearly."

"I'm _fine_."

"You are most certainly not."

Before she can continue to argue, he shifts the car into gear and pulls back into the street, all the while sipping from his smoothie. After his headache begins to lessen, he finally gets a clear look at his partner and notices what she purchased for herself at the café.

"I didn't know you liked chocolate milkshakes, Bones."

"You told me once that 'everyone likes chocolate milkshakes'."

"Well, yeah, I did… I just assumed you wouldn't."

"You assumed incorrectly."

"Obviously."

"I usually dislike milkshakes," she continues, "But I like chocolate milkshakes."

"I'll remember that."

She finishes her milkshake within ten minutes, and he swears she looks a little forlorn when it's gone. After that day, he starts ordering her milkshakes at the diner sometimes, and she never refuses them.

/

**September 2006**

He promises her once that she will never be alone again as long as he is breathing. She doesn't believe in promises anymore, and so she brushes him off, chastising him for making such a promise when there is an inherent inability to ever know such a thing for sure. There are too many things in the world out of their control.

He isn't discouraged, however, because upholding his promise isn't contingent on whether or not she believes him. Over time, she comes to the realization that promises are important to Booth. They make him feel as though he has some control over the safety and happiness of those he cares about, they are a way of him showing that he does care, even if he knows he has little control. She learns that when she brushes off this gesture so easily, it hurts his feelings.

Although she may not believe in promises, she _does_ believe in him. One night, after a particularly trying case for them both, as he is absently crushing his pie with his fork and she is chewing the straw that came with her milkshake, he keeps his gaze focused on his food but promises her, his voice laden with despair, that he'll always protect her from harm.

Releasing the straw from her mouth, she brushes her hand over his and simply responds, "I know."

/

**December 2006**

The day before Christmas Eve, Booth could barely contain his excitement. Rebecca was planning to travel out of town to visit her cousins, and Booth had managed to convince her to leave Parker with him until the 27th. She had reluctantly agreed, knowing that she would get to spend quality time with him on New Year's.

Parker had been over two weekends before helping him set up their tree and decorations around his apartment. This afternoon, he was touching up the lights he'd hung on his windows while the glare of the TV and the football announcers were left unheeded.

He'd told Parker that, for these four days staying with him, it was alright to bring his Xbox and his Wii, if he wanted to. Rebecca had seen right through him, accusing _him_ of wanting to stay in and play video games for four days. Booth, of course, had argued that it was only right to make sure Parker could play his new games from "Santa" right away.

The plan was for Rebecca to drop him off at the Jeffersonian after the Christmas Eve staff party the following afternoon. Angela had roped him in to participating in the Secret Santa. He was fairly certain that Brennan had refused to participate, but he'd gotten her a little something anyway. The way he saw it, it wouldn't be right for him not to get his partner and closest friend a gift on Christmas. He still wanted to show her the magic of the season, especially this year.

The knock on his door caused him to jump in surprise. The grip of his leg on his windowsill slipped, causing him to knock over some of the lights as he tripped over himself. With a curse, he dropped the lights and hurried toward his door when there was another knock. "I'm _coming_," Booth hissed impatiently, until he heard the response through the walls.

"It's just me, Booth."

"Bones?" He questioned unnecessarily as he moved to open the door. He was a little surprised, pleasantly, of course, to see his partner standing before him with multiple bags, one of which appeared to be full of beer. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked, even as he moved to take her bags from her and usher her inside.

Before Brennan had the chance to answer him, he prattled, "Sorry about the mess, Bones – Parker always insists that he help me decorate for Christmas, but he gets bored after he puts up the ornaments, so I was finishing the lights and the tinsel – as you can see, it tends to take over my living room."

"It's quite alright, Booth," she assures and she takes off her coat and places it neatly on a chair. "To be honest, I would have expected you to be finished with this already."

"Yes, well," he mumbles, "I usually am. It's been busy this year."

"I hope you don't mind me coming," she says, a little softly, "It's just-"

"What's up, Bones?" He's putting the six packs of beer she brought in the fridge to chill, although he notices one is still slightly cool. She must have been planning to be there a while.

"Did you mean what you said? About there being more than one kind of family?"

He stops in his path, forgetting about finding them glasses, and moves to where she is standing, her gaze towards the floor. She is shifting her weight uncomfortably, almost timidly.

"Temperance," he breathes, placing a hand on her shoulder and lifting her chin with the other, "Of course I meant that. There's a saying that goes something like 'Friends are the family we choose'. _You_ will always be part of my family. I won't let you be alone, Temperance, and I'm going to prove it to you over and over again until you believe it."

She does not respond to him immediately, but she shuts her eyes and he can hear her breath hitch as a few tears slip down her cheeks. "I wonder if they're going to be together today," she chokes out, barely audible, "Families are supposed to be together on Christmas, right?"

Booth finds the anger he feels towards Max and Russ is building all over again. "Yeah, families are supposed to be together on Christmas," his voice is dark, initially, but then he shakes it off. "Listen, when are you leaving for your trip to Australia?"

"Christmas night."

"Perfect. Stay with me for a while tonight, alright? We can make fun of bad crime dramas on TV and drink that fantastic beer you brought. And come over for breakfast on Christmas morning. Parker and I make so much food you'd think we were feeding a herd of elephants instead of the two of us."

"I don't want to intrude on your time with Parker, Booth."

"Aw, the kid loves you, Bones. He says you're cooler than Scully. Besides, I want you there."

"I still don't know who Scully is."

"You know what, forget it, we're not going to make fun of bad crime dramas tonight. We're going to watch the X-Files."

"Isn't the X-Files a crime drama?"

"Yes, the difference is that it's a good show. Are you coming Christmas morning or not?"

"Okay," she tentatively agrees, "Because Christmas is for family."


	2. Part II: 2007:2009

/

**Part II: 2007 – 2009**

"_Don't even know what I'll say when I get to you"_

_/_

**June 2007**

The glow of her monitor and the soft luminescence of her favorite candles are the only lights indicating the presence of someone in the Jeffersonian. A heavy rain pounds the windows and it seems appropriate to her to work mostly in darkness. Her latest novel holds a deeper supernatural aura than most, although she still cannot place exactly why. It was an idea she had capitalized on before thinking too deeply about it.

The solitude, as always, is comforting. Angela had tried to pull her away as usual – _Sweetie, it's Friday night, come on_ – but she declined less respectfully than normal, craving the solitude more than the occasionally stressful stimulation of alcohol, loud music, and enthusiastic club-hoppers.

Her keen senses alert her to someone entering the lab and she finds herself slightly annoyed, but not surprised, when she recognized the sound of Booth's favorite "going-out" shoes. She lets out a resigned sigh. She is in no mood to argue with him, leaving her with two options, one of which was kicking him before giving in and letting him into her office, which was the second option. The decision is made for her when she picks up the scent of espresso and freshly made bread.

He knows her too well, and although she hates it, it is simultaneously a relief.

Although Booth is somewhat surprised when her door isn't ceremoniously slammed in his face, he is grateful. His partner's focus does not shift from her computer save for a quick, barely noticeable flicker of her eyes in his direction. He notices her nostrils flare once, twice, three times – the richness of the espresso is getting to her. It is a cheap trick on his part; it never fails to get her attention.

Accepting the invitation for what it is worth, he closes the door behind him and sets the food and drinks on a side table. He walks to the small boombox she keeps in her office and turns it on.

The music is her cue to save her progress and close the file on her computer. She still won't let him read any of her work before the manuscript is finished, at least.

Silently, she joins him and takes a sip from her espresso, vaguely recognizing as the liquid warms her that she is going to be too relaxed in the coming night.

"How's your progress?" Booth inquires around a mouthful of sandwich.

"Satisfactory."

At her succinct response, he grins and temporarily places his sandwich back on its wrapping. "In what ways do I rock your world in this one?"

"You do not – I don't know what that means."

His eyes twinkle, and he reaches for his dinner again. "That's alright, Bones."

She looks indignant. "You aren't going to explain it to me?"

"It's probably better if I don't."

She glares at him, but is only half-serious. Angela is usually just as eager as Booth to explain colloquialisms to her.

As if hearing her thoughts, Booth asks, "Where did Angela try and convince you to party tonight?"

"I don't remember." She pointedly takes a large bit of food to keep her mouth occupied.

"Bones."

"…The Fox and the Hound."

Stretching out his arms, he asks, "So, what are we doing instead?"

"I was writing."

"You need a break."

"I know what I need."

"Not in this case."

Frustrated, she wipes her hands on her pants and points out, "Normally, when you show up this late on a Friday night, you're working with Angela to drag me out."

"Oh, are you disappointed? We can still go out if you want-"

"No."

"But I was thinking we should finish these sandwiches and run with the espresso."

"If you're actually suggesting that we run, Booth, I would not recommend-"

He sighs. "Geez, Bones. Drive. We're going to drive. And then walk."

"Where? Why?"

"It's a surprise."

"I dislike surprises."

"You'll like this one."

*

Booth drives them to a quiet district downtown. The streets are quiet that night and they walk, Booth's arm around Brennan's shoulder, down a dimly lit sidewalk.

Her mind still somewhat drifting back to her novel, Brennan asks, "Why are we here, Booth?"

He shrugs in response. "Haven't you ever just wanted to take a walk?"

"I frequently find walking beneficial for focusing my thoughts and priorities, sure."

"Well, see, focus your priorities, then."

"Your arm is on my shoulder."

"That is neither here nor there."

"What?"

He sighs and begins moving his arm, but to his amazement, she stops him.

"It's alright," she whispers, just barely leaning into him. "I can focus my thoughts when you're not around."

"I'm not sure how to take that," he laughs, but smiles warmly at her as he tightens his grip on her shoulder, enjoying the serenity but channeling his sniper instincts in the darkness. He steals a glance at her as she finishes the last of her espresso and gazes it at the stars.

"I like it here." She admits simply.

"Told you so."

"Do you come here often?"

He looks away. "I try to. It's sort of my spot."

"You brought me to your spot?" It is mostly a question, but there is a hint of wonder in her voice.

"Sometimes the best part about having a 'spot' is having someone close to share it with."

Fully resting her head against his shoulder, just for a moment, she lets out a sigh. She pulls away from him just as quickly as she leaned into him, but not before whispering, "Thank you, Booth."

/

**November 2007**

It is late November and winter is in the air; the wind is harsh and biting, the early evening chill is the kind that penetrates the skin and chills your bones. They'd been called out to investigate a set of remains early that morning. Seeley hadn't quite been dressed for the weather and had been thankful he'd remembered to wear his warmer suit jacket that morning. She'd been dressed in skin-tight jeans and high leather boots; her tunic and her jacket couldn't have kept her warm at all.

Seeley'd been offering her his jacket all day, but she'd declined with increasing aggravation the more he offered, insisting she was fine. After his sixth offer he'd dropped the subject, but he could see through her pretense.

By the end of the day, even in his Tahoe with the heat on full-blast, she struggled to hide her shivers. Her nose and her cheeks were tinged pink; small strands of her hair had fallen out of her ponytail and framed her face. He thought she looked adorable, and shivered himself knowing what she would do to him if she knew he thought so.

He made a turn that he knew she would recognize was not part of their route. True to form she called him out on it, and he'd simply replied, "It's cold out, Bones. This is _perfect_ for hot chocolate."

"I'm fine, Booth."

He had to chuckle at her persistence. "I never said you weren't, Bones." He knew that she knew he was worried about her, but he tried to redirect the conversation. "But it _is_ cold out. Come on, now, we were out in the field all day, in late November? This is hot chocolate weather."

She gave him no affirmation but also no protest; she refolded her arms across her chest and laid her head against the seat, closing her eyes and trusting Booth to alert her when they arrived at their destination.

They drove in silence before pulling up next to the Royal Diner. "Stay in the car," Booth murmured, putting his vehicle in park but leaving the engine running. "I'll just run in and grab them to go; we can take it back to the Jeffersonian and finish that paperwork. Sound good?"

Turning her head to look at him, she opened her eyes just long enough to give him a soft smile. "That sounds nice, Booth."

The smile he returned to her was vibrant with his warming heart after that brief touch of emotion she had shown him. She would have denied that her smile to him had meant anything at all, but he knew her better. "I'll be back, Bones."

She did not keep track of how long he was gone, but it was not long before he was opening her door, handing her a large to-go cup with hot chocolate and a carry out container. Armed with a large drink himself, he walked around to the other side of the car and practically hopped into the driver's seat.

The smell of the food in the carry out container was not lost on her. "French fries?"

"Of course!" He affirmed. He had gotten them for her, but of course. "They're delicious when dipped _in_ the hot chocolate."

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "That doesn't sound very appetizing."

"It is, Bones, trust me. It is."

/

**March 2008**

It has been many, many years since Brennan has actively sought out the attention of any one person in particular. Even now, though she makes a conscious effort to keep in touch with Max and Russ and Angela, she's not really bothered by a lack of communication. Angela will almost always seek her out before too long, especially because they work together, and she's reached a sort of understanding with Max and Russ to keep in touch with each other whenever it is viable.

Out at the market on a Sunday morning warmer than usual for the season, she happens to notice Booth out of the corner of her eye. She is initially surprised to notice him there, and for a moment doesn't think much of the occurrence and almost moves on, but then she thinks of how Booth would feel if he noticed her and she hadn't tried to seek him out, so she begins to make her way through the crowd to say hello to her partner.

She gets close when she notices what he is presumably doing there; he's talking animatedly with a beautiful brunette, and Brennan isn't sure how long they have known each other but the woman is laughing and Booth's eyes hold a particular light that Brennan is used to seeing, just not in this context.

She quickly turns before he can notice her, telling herself that she'll just see him at work the next day anyway, and there's no reason for her to ruin his moment. She tells herself it's no big deal, but she finds that she's disappointed.

/

**May 2008**

Brennan knows that her highly logical view of the world allows her to be hyperaware of her strengths, her weaknesses, and the qualities she lacks (or possesses) that may be viewed as weaknesses by others, even if she doesn't feel the same. She knows she is highly adept at specific things in her life. Her ability to compartmentalize her emotions and thus be able to fully focus herself on the task at hand has long been her strongest asset, at least in her world. She takes pride in herself for not allowing trivial matters such as her emotions to cloud her judgment on things that mattered.

Still, regardless of her abilities, her emotions can be quite powerful – moreso than she suspects most people think she is capable of, and certainly more than she desires. Every now and again, she finds her emotions bubbling to the surface of her consciousness, threatening to uproot her whole world the way they had so many years ago, one December of her childhood. It was a struggle, but she managed. She always did.

She knows she isn't perfect. She _logically_ knows that it is impossible to be perfect at anything – including, as much as she is loathe to admit this – rationalizing. The duration of her father's trial had certainly put her abilities to the test, constantly and with such force that she had woken up some nights having to remind herself to breathe. Dealing with the possibility of her father's execution, or spending the rest of his life in jail, and dealing with her conflicting emotions about whether or not she _wanted_ him in jail regardless of the fact that he belonged there was no easy feat for her. She had not lied when she had despaired and admitted to Booth that the situation was more confusing to her than she wanted to deal with. It had been a testament to just how confusing the situation was that she had told Booth in the first place.

She still was unsure how she – ironically – _felt_ about letting her feelings dictate her final decision. She would never forget the look on Booth's face when he had quietly whispered, "That's a lot of heart, Bones." After the end of the trial, she had been looking forward to putting the situation behind her, taking a deep breath and recollecting herself. Truthfully, she was still shaken.

Angela had a saying for situations like this. "When it rains, it pours". Like most colloquialisms, Brennan argued the sense of it, but she had heard Angela's voice repeating it as of late and she found that maybe, she could understand the reason for its use.

She had just been finding her ground again when Booth was shot. For as much as she had insisted to Sweets, Booth, and everyone else at the Jeffersonian about how fine she had been, how she had been able to compartmentalize and move on, she had been lying, and she was fairly certain that Angela and Sweets, at the very least, knew it. It irritated her to the core that Sweets was able to read her so easily, at least on that regard.

She'd had one moment, one distinct, horrifying moment, when she had felt Booth die in her arms that her emotions had threatened to send her over the edge. She had barely been able to find her voice, she had felt as if the whole world had (metaphorically) fallen away and all she would know again was the terror of losing her best friend and her partner and something else she couldn't quite name to a mere _stalker_ when he had made the sacrifice to save her life. She had wanted to cry, she had wanted to scream, she had wanted to make Pam suffer for what she had done, she had wanted to hold Booth tighter and beg him to come back to her. Pam _had_ suffered for what she had done, thanks to her, but she was Dr. Temperance Brennan, and she would not allow herself any other displays of emotion. She couldn't handle them. Instead, she had held her partner tightly in her arms, refusing to let him go even when the paramedics arrived. She held him all the way to the hospital, and when Angela had very gently dragged her away from his body, tears streaming down both their faces, she swore to herself that it was the last tear she would ever shed over Seeley Booth.

At first, compartmentalizing his death had been her saving grace. The numbness she had forced upon herself temporarily washed away the lingering pain and confusion over her father's trial and Booth, and she had believed herself to be back full-force at the Jeffersonian. Booth had been another person in her life she had cared for – possibly loved – who had left her. She was used to that. She remembered thinking that she would have to stop seeing Sweets. He kept insisting she was feeling all these emotions that she wasn't.

What surprised her most was that Booth's return into her life, after learning that his death had been staged, had almost been worse than dealing with his "death" to begin with. Her breath had caught in her throat when she realized exactly who was in that uniform, and all the emotions, all the anger, terror, and deep sadness that she hadn't wanted to acknowledge burst in her like an erupting volcano. She did not cry. The punch she had delivered to her partner instead had been rather satisfying and she never thought she would mention the situation again, after that.

Much to her own chagrin, she had found that once she had unleashed her feelings, she had been powerless to stop them from manifesting, hence her constant pestering of Booth for not informing her that he wasn't really dead. Anger is always easier to channel than sadness. Anger was also easier for her to channel than fondness, than love for her friend and the attachment she had to the only partner she would ever work so closely with. She wouldn't make that mistake twice.

Also surprising was that Booth hadn't seemed any more eager to talk about the situation than she was. For once, he was perhaps more eager than she to just move on, and that suited her just fine. It probably would have worked, if Zach hadn't become so caught up in the Gormogon fiasco.

She had to give Zach credit, she thought, for managing to uproot her emotions so distinctly, twice within 48 hours. When Cam had despairingly muttered that she had known Zach would cause her pain the moment she met him, Brennan had grudgingly agreed.

She had easily viewed her intern as a colleague and a trusted friend even before he had earned his doctorate. As it turned out, when he betrayed them all so easily, it hurt her even more to know how easily she had trusted him.

If Brennan believed in a god, she'd later view this time in her life as some sort of divine payback or message signaling her to deal with her emotions more frequently before the whole world came to bite her in the ass at once. If she believed in luck, she'd later view this time in her life as a long string of rather horrible luck, hopefully signaling the last of such occurrences for a long time.

Brennan believed in neither, and she'd later wonder briefly if it would have been easier to deal with it she did, because there was no _logical_ explanation for the recent string of events, and in the end, this truth led her to her current state, which she could also not explain.

To clarify, she was still sitting outside of the Jeffersonian, on the back entrance steps, curled up in Booth's arms without thinking twice about it. She'd been terrified and overcome with worry when Zach had been blown up. She figured that she must have exhausted her compartmentalizing abilities on Booth's death because somehow she found herself unnervingly shaken. Only within the past few hours, she admitted to herself that maybe she hadn't been so okay with Booth's death as she had been letting on. Just when she had been starting to deal with that mess the only way she know how – solving the case, finding the truth – the truth had come back to sting so deeply that, once again, she found herself breathless.

Her father was a murderer, and she'd reworked the facts to convince a jury there was a possibility _she_ had murdered the Deputy Director of the FBI, and not her father, just to ensure his life. Her father's life, who had abandoned her as a child. Her father, who had lived in a criminal lifestyle and hidden it. Why would she offer herself up as a murder suspect to make him available to her? Because she loved him? What sense did that make?

And Zach. Sweet, naive, socially inept Zach, who was best forensic anthropologist she knew, outside of herself, of course. Zach, whom she had put so much time and effort into, teaching him everything she knew about reading the language of bones. She'd trusted him with more than he realized - she had trusted him with her haven. With the truth.

And he'd gone and uprooted it. He'd killed someone, become the Gormogon's apprentice without anyone knowing. He'd tampered with evidence. He'd lied. He'd jeopardized the integrity of the Jeffersonian, destroyed a good portion of their lab equipment, and put the lives of her entire team in danger - nevermind that he'd willingly took the brunt of the explosion just to save Hodgins from further harm.

She should be furious. She should be closing herself off from him entirely, demanding that Sweets testify showing that Zach Addy was not, in fact, insane, and deserved to be put away for the rest of his life. Just as Cam said.

Instead, she was outside, distraught that she had never given Zach a physical gift, as everyone else had. And Booth, her ever-dependable partner, tried to comfort her by pointing out that she'd given Zach the most _important_ thing in his life - that which was intangible - a job that he cared about, and a home.

A home. A lot of good that did. Obviously there was a hole. He'd been missing something. Something that the Gormogon was able to exploit. What had she been missing? Could she have given him something else? Maybe she should have paid more attention to him.

The sudden taste of salt on her tongue alerts her to her silent tears, and she half-heartedly wipes away at them, sniffling and keeping her head tucked on Booth's shoulder. She's not sure she has the energy to move. She feels his arms wrap around her waist and pull her closer, his nose burying in her hair. She's almost positive this is crossing a line – one that has been almost breached too often as of late. She's even more positive that she doesn't care – just this once.

"Penny for your thoughts there, Bones?"

Her partner's question breaks the silence, and she wrinkles her forehead in confusion. "Why would I ask for a penny to tell you my thoughts?"

Booth chuckles, and she can feel his smile on her skin. She suspects he chose to use the colloquialism in an attempt to lighten the mood, and she's grateful for it.

"What's on your mind, Bones?" His voice is soft and full of emotion, and Brennan isn't sure why, she has the urge to cry again. She fights down the sob arising in her chest.

"There must have been something I missed, Booth," she whispers, "I know I have difficulties interpreting how others feel, that must be why I assumed Zach was... was normal, was as happy as he could be. Should I have asked you to let me know if you thought something was wrong? Maybe I should have asked Sweets to check up on him. Zach had to have been missing something in his life, to see the logic in helping Gormogon. I may have been able to help him fill that hole. I should have protected him. I should have noticed. If there is something I could have done-"

"Bones." She would not have thought it possible but he tightens his grip on her with one arm, turning her chin with the other hand to catch her eyes. "Temperance. You gave Zach everything. We were - we _are_ all Zach's friends. We all love him. We all teased him, though. Maybe it is because he is the youngest, or because of who he is, but we all, albeit in good humor, teased him. Except for you. You never once treated him as below you or unequal except when it was due - in terms of work - and that was to be expected when he became your graduate student. He valued that, you have my word. This is something that all of us should have noticed, and no one did. Zach is very good at hiding his personal life. There's nothing you could have done."

"I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse."

"It's very confusing. I know."

She rests her head on his shoulder again, and he whispers, "I'm sorry. I really am. You must be feeling very betrayed right now. By yourself, for what you did to help your father, and by me, for not breaking the rules as I have so many times to let you know that I was still alive, and by Zach, one of the people you trusted the most, in the one place you always feel safe. I know this is disconcerting for you. I wish there was something I could do to help."

"I can't find the answer," she whispers, "No matter how much I try, I can't find it. I don't know what to do. I don't know if I can identify or control what I am feeling and it's affecting my mental processes and I feel like… I can't breathe."

"Oh Bones," he breathes. He gently kisses her temple. "Just feel. I know how scary that is, but just once, just feel. To be able to understand your feelings, you have to recognize them for what they are. You can't logic these away."

She grips his hand, resting on her elbow, in her own. "I wasn't entirely truthful with you."

"What do you mean?"

"I told you that I was able to completely compartmentalize your death. That's not entirely the case. I tried to, Booth, but I couldn't.." her voice drops to an almost inaudible level. "I couldn't erase the _feeling_ of you dying in my arms from my mind." She chokes out a sob, and he squeezes her hand. "I remember pleading with you not to leave me alone."

"I'm really sorry, Bones," he sounds just as anguished as she feels. "I am going to kill Sweets for not telling you."

"It was his professional decision. It did make sense." She sounds less sure of this than she had previously. "It wouldn't be logical or fair of me to be upset with him for treating me as I always ask to be treated, and yet, for some reason I was upset with you. And I am upset with him for manipulating me."

"No one likes to be manipulated. Besides," the tone of his voice is suddenly lighter, "_obviously_ you are angry with me because you miiiiiissseeeddd me and that's how you're dealing with it!"

She snorts through her tears, and jokes to deflect the accuracy of his accusation. "I was going to miss having a competent partner."

"I think you just complimented me."

"Don't do that to me again, Booth. Ever. It was very distracting to have Angela and Sweets hovering over me all of the time."

"I won't. I promise you, Temperance."

She sighs, and contemplates how she can feel so comfortable in his arms, but this is _Booth_, and she knows she can trust him, even if she can no longer trust Sweets or the FBI with the delicacy of their partnership. She can trust him, and she does.

Soon, she would need to see Zach off, dealing with his open position, hire a new intern, figure out the next step for her and Max, and deal with Sweets. For now, though, she was going to revel her partner, who was a constant in her life, always unyielding and willing to keep himself constant for her, as long as she needed.

She asks tentatively, "Is this a guy hug, Booth?"

"No." He smiles again. "This is a best friend hug. This is an "I'm sorry for hurting you" and "I wish I could make it all better" hug."

They remain on the steps until the security guards lock up for the night.

/

**August 2008**

Booth is a frequent visitor in her office, even when she is not around. If her office is open in her absence, he writes on the notepad she keeps right next to her computer; usually notes telling her to meet him for lunch or a drink, or to meet him at the Hoover. If his message is important for work, he texts her, otherwise, he tells her that leaving notes is "necessary" for a friendship, like they have secrets no one else should know. She tells him it's juvenile, but she smiles when she sees them.

If her office door is locked, he steals post-its from Cam's office and leaves notes for her on her door, except her door isn't ideal for adhesives and they frequently fall to the floor. Sometimes Brennan reaches them before they are picked up or inadvertingly moved as they are walked over, sometimes she does not, and Booth feigns offense at her not receiving his messages.

Brennan stops at the convenience store around the corner from her apartment building one morning on her way in to the lab. Angela had called and asked her to bring a few things in for her. On her way down the aisles, her eyes are caught by the wall full of Post-It notes. She is struck by the variety of adhesive-coated paper. The number of options seems superfluous to her, especially when she notes the Super Sticky variety. If the original post-its weren't satisfactorily sticking to surfaces to the point where they warranted a Super Sticky variety, why not just make all Post-It notes that way? Despite her observations, she knows that Booth would appreciate them, so she takes a pack of 300 blue, super-sticky notes off the shelves and places them in her basket.

After making her purchases at the convenience store, she makes a quick detour to the Hoover on her way into the lab. Booth isn't in his office, but that is just as well. His door is open, so she opens the pack of sticky notes and leaves them next to the coffee cup on his desk, knowing he will see them. On the first note in the pack, she writes,

_If you are going to insist on leaving me inane messages on sticky notes, you should have the courtesy to not use Cam's. I left the packaging for the notes on your desk. You will notice these are the 'super sticky' variety; you no longer have an excuse to whine at me for not receiving your lunch invitations. If I do not respond, I am simply busy or uninterested. That being said, lunch at the diner today? – Bones_

She leaves the sticky note on the door, just under the plague engraved with his name.

Booth meets her at the diner for lunch that afternoon as requested, choosing to whine about her unnecessary harshness regarding his lunch invitations rather than asking exactly why she bought him a pack of sticky notes if she thought his messages were so inane. The more effective route would have been to enlist Cam's help in boycotting his use of them, but he knows better than to give her ideas.

Instead, after what he deems a sufficient period of feigning hurt feelings, he teases her. "You love my messages, Bones, admit it!"

She, of course, huffs indignantly and denies it.

Booth starts using his new sticky notes almost immediately, the first being a note on her office door later than evening reminding her not to stay in the lab too late. It doesn't take more than a few days for the messages to progress from her computer and office door to the drawers in Limbo, the windshield of her car, in her favorite spots on the platform, and, a few times, on the door of her apartment.

Booth's shortest and most straight forward messages had not changed.

_Royal, 3pm, don't be late!_

_Wanna ditch out on Sweets tonight, grab a drink instead? Pick you up at 7. – Booth_

On one particular Saturday she knew Booth had Parker, she had locked herself in her office from 6am until late that afternoon writing. She ventured out to her car to grab some files to find a dinner invitation on her door:

_Parker requested your presence at dinner tonight. My place, I'm making lasagna. It'll be vegetarian, and Parker says you have to make good on your promise to 'kick his butt', so to speak, at Halo. You need to get out of that office, Bones! See you at 6? – Booth_

Sometimes, he leaves cryptic messages and lessons, quotes (or misquotes) he thinks she needs to hear.

"_Of all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these: It might have been."_

_- John Greenleaf Whittier_

Sometimes he likes to quote lyrics from their favorite songs. She could never quite be sure if he was quoting the lyrics for the sake of it, or trying to hint something.

_Can we make a secret rendezvous?_

Her favorite, however, were the notes that he left with seemingly no purpose, or left casually but meant everything.

_Message from Parker:_

"_Dr. Bones is the coolest girl I know, Dad! She knows the answer to _everything_, I mean, she would SO win on Jeopardy, she makes the best mac-and-cheese in the world, you know she doesn't have cooties because she's not icky, aaand she could kick your butt in 5 seconds flat!"_

_I take offense at my son's confidence in your abilities over me, but otherwise, he's very right._

_- Booth_

Brennan never tells him that she had started saving her favorites. They stay in her office in a box that Angela had brought her back from France. They are protected by Jasper and Brainy Smurf. Sometimes, she takes the box home on weekends. She rarely opens it, but likes knowing that it is there.

Booth uses all 300 of his notes within three months. After two days of him returning to the yellow, now seemingly inferior notes from Cam's office, she places a bulk order online, and has them sent to this apartment.

/

**Early September, 2008**

_Oxford, United Kingdom_

Brennan reaches for her previously abandoned drink. "I don't believe in luck."

She registers the sound of the bridge opening to their left. She doesn't point this out to her partner, who finishes his drink and regards her incredulously.

"What do you mean, you don't believe in luck? Okay, well, how do you explain when good things happen out of nowhere?"

In return, she gives him a bemused look. "Define 'good things'."

Signaling for another drink, Booth continues, "You know, good things. Money in the bank. Uh, hey, Doris Day parking, a big piece of-"

She interrupts him and asks, "What's Doris Day parking?"

He laughs. "A big piece of the pie, that's good luck."

In response, she shakes her head. "I call that a solipsistic perceptual response to the random nature of the universe."

Booth snorts. "Well, tomato, potato. Call it what you want. You know what? It's still luck."

Raising an eyebrow, Brennan retorts, "You are lucky I understand you when you say things that make no sense."

"See, you just agreed with me that it was luck. You just agreed, right there, so I'll take that."

"I did not agree! I simply continued with your line of reasoning! Just because I used your reasoning back at you does not mean I _agree_ with it-"

"Aw, come on, Bones, why would you argue using a concept you don't agree with? And, anyway, 'random nature of the universe'? How unsatisfying is that?"

"What _I_ find unsatisfying is reducing scientifically explicable occurrences to unfounded superstitious tendencies such as luck."

"You're incorrigible," he mutters. "One day, I'm going to show you the joys of the element of surprise."

"When did we start talking about surprises? We were talking about luck."

"Good luck _is_ a surprise, Bones."

"I don't believe in luck, Booth, I'm not going to _start _lecturing you on the lack of relationship between the two."

"Well, alright." Booth will be the one to drop the argument this time. "What _are_ you going to lecture me on, then?"

"Who said anything about lecturing?"

"You just did."

She takes his bait. "Common sense."

"What?"

"Common sense, are you even listening to me?"

Booth imagines that he looks as confused as he feels. "What about common sense?"

Surprisingly to her partner, Brennan smiles and it reaches her eyes. She glances at the lowered bridge, and then back across the table. "I believe common sense lead to the correct course of action tonight."

"How do you figure?"

"Would you like to come back to my hotel with me, order room service and take advantage of the in-room hot tub?"

"You have a hot tub _in your room_? Geez, Bones."

"Well, do you?"

"Well, ask a stupid question."

"I don't understand."

"Never mind. Let's go. If you're nice to me, I'll let you throw my beach ball at me."

"Why do you have a beach ball?"

"Uh, for the pool, of course!"

"That is not a logical conclusion."

"Well, logical or not, it's still the answer."

Brennan pauses. "Are you trying to show me some deeper meaning?"

"In this case no, actually, but I can see how you may take it that way."

She smiles again and allows him to swing an arm around her shoulders as they leave the restaurant.

Yes, common sense was the correct guidance tonight, logical or not.

/

**Late September, 2008**

_Like all dogs, Ripley only saw the good in people. Dogs are like that. People should take a lesson._

Remembering his partner's anguished words as he walks around the toy store with Parker, Booth takes a deep breath, trying to feel all the sadness that Brennan had struggled with feeling herself. There was an irony that sickened him in Brennan's typical label of holding nothing more in her heart than her cold, analytical view of the world.

Booth has seen enough of Brennan to know that she still operates primarily on her natural instincts, for better or for worse. Sometimes those natural instincts kicked her brain and her fight-or-flight response into overdrive, resulting in her emotional distance from the world around her. Sometimes, those natural instincts kicked her heart into overdrive so intensely that she would jump at the chance to adopt a dog she barely knew to save him from a life of forced violence.

At the beginning of their partnership, Booth had felt as though Brennan's transition into the field was the best thing that could have happened to her. There was a world outside her lab, outside of carefully devised experiments and microscopes and chipped bones, that could not be explained by mathematics and theory. He had fervently believed that she needed to be exposed to this.

The closer they grew, and the more of herself she showed, the more Booth realized that Brennan had seen more of this world than she cared to admit, whether from trips overseas or from her childhood. And the more they worked on cases such as Ripley's, the more a small part of him resented how pushy he was with her sometimes. As irrational as it was, he wanted to protect her from all of the pain that existed in the world, all the pain that existed in herself.

The problem was not that Temperance Brennan was incapable of feeling. The problem was that she felt too deeply, and if she did not protect herself somehow, she would suffocate.

Many people hold the same problem, and Booth knows that. His partner is not the only one who feels too deeply and, through unfortunate occurrences and painful events, comes to the conclusion that emotions are more trouble than they are worth. Some embrace their deep feelings, learning to appreciate them as a blessing and shower others with them when they can, and some learn to simply move on.

Booth isn't sure what is best for his partner, but he's sure that he wants to be there for her as she learns, as she evolves as he knows she will. He's always been sure of that. He also knows the value of emotions, regardless of the arguments she will make. The ability to feel empathy, sympathy, love, anger, sadness, remorse, all of those things, are as instructive to an individual and to a society as her science.

So he buys her a pig figurine and a Brainy Smurf action figure to show her the value in dreams and the beauty of the truth, even if initially disguised as unsatisfactory.

Tonight, as Parker browses the Batman action figures, his current obsession exacerbated after the release of _The Dark Knight_, Booth rolls a little plastic dog in his hands and wonders if Brennan needs a reminder that unadulterated, spontaneous love and sympathy for any creature is as beautiful and rewarding as it is painful.

Deciding that the little dog couldn't hurt, he makes the purchase and leaves it on her desk the next morning on top of a blue post-it note.

_Because both Ripley and your sympathy deserve to be remembered,_

_- Booth_

_/_

**October 2008**

After a spirited debate over their coffee break one morning involving Monopoly, Booth invites Angela, Hodgins, Cam, and Brennan over to his apartment for game night. He orders far too much pizza and stocks his fridge with too much beer, but it turns out to be a wise move because their game takes them five hours to finish and by the time Angela eventually wins, Cam is tipsy and slap-happy, Hodgins is laughing and insisting he taught Angela all the tricks she knows about the game and Brennan is analyzing the practicality of the rather tiny game pieces.

Booth offers his living room up as a place for them all to crash, but Cam needs to get home and so does Angela, so the two decide to share a cab and Hodgins tags along with them because he's worried about Angela and drunk enough that he doesn't care if she knows it. Angela attempts to pull Brennan along with her, but she insists that someone stay and help Booth clean up the mess they've all made. Booth was just going to leave it all until the next morning, but he's delighted at the thought of Brennan staying, though he tries to contain himself.

She continues her analysis of the game pieces and the board setup as they clean and she isn't making much sense to him, but he laughs anyway because he is drunk and she is beautiful with her hair falling into her eyes, and there's a warm feeling in his stomach. He wants to go to bed before he does something he will regret, but she continues to straighten up past her necessary duties, and so he continues to help her. By the time they are finished it is far past midnight. She moves to put on her coat, but he refuses to let her go home so late.

"It's really alright," she protests, "I can take care of myself, and I'm awake at the moment. I won't fall asleep."

"You _could_ though," he insists, "Just stay here."

She agrees after only a little protest, and he offers her his bed but she refuses and tells him that if he offers again she will catch a cab as soon as he passes out, so he leaves her in his living room while he finds his spare blankets and sheets for the couch. The TV has been left on and ignored for most of the night. It is late and _Cash Cab_ reruns are playing on the Discovery Channel.

She's never seen the show before, but before long she is hooked in, answering most of the questions correctly and laughing at the most incorrect guesses. She grows frustrated at the pop culture questions she does not know the answer to, and wishes she had her laptop so she could conduct research. Booth, from his bedroom as he prepares for bed, is eager to know what has her so engaged when he hears her laughter, and when he notices what she is watching he laughs to himself and wonders why he hadn't thought to introduce her to the show. He knows the answer to many of the pop culture questions. They'd make the perfect team, as always.

They wind up watching the show together for two and a half hours, and by the end of it she is still awake but Booth is dozing beside her on the couch. She considers going home, but ultimately decides against it. She lays him down and covers him with the blankets, then sleeps in his bed after all.

/

**January 2009**

The route that Brennan takes to Booth's apartment from the Jeffersonian passes a small, fairly secluded park with a small rickety swing set and a tiny eutrophic pond. The park is never very crowded, but Booth and Parker frequent it in the summer when they are playing catch or practicing football tackles.

She isn't entirely surprised when she makes out Booth's form, attempting to hide behind the swing set as Parker approaches him, his arms full of a very large snowball, much too large for his size. With a smile, she presses her foot on the breaks and turns toward the park, pulling her car into the spot next to his SUV

She leaves the paperwork she had brought for him in the back seat, and is grateful for it when she is hit promptly in the shoulder with a snowball barely after closing her driver's seat door.

"Booth!" she shrieks, shimmying a little from the snow sliding down her neck. "I could have been carrying paperwork!"

"Nah," Booth laughs, "I knew you'd be smarter-"

Booth's retort is cut off when he is hit square in the face with Parker's large snowball. Brennan is silent for a brief moment before she laughs, and Parker falls to the ground in giggles.

"I got you Dad," he taunts joyously, "Never let your guard down around the enemy, remember!"

Rather than give his son the satisfaction of arguing, he glares at his partner. "This is all your fault, Bones."

Clearly in disagreement, Parker runs over to his favorite scientist and gives her a hug. "Thanks, Dr. Bones! You really _are_ the coolest! Dad's been acting like a _wimp_, hiding behind a _swing set_."

"That's because," Brennan explains, her tone serious, "Your father realizes he is really no match for you, Parker. Snowball fights are all about tactic."

"Hey!" Booth protests, "I know _everything_ about tactics."

"I've seen you play hockey," she retorts, "Your strategy focuses primarily on offensive techniques. You're not so good on the defense."

"That's not true, Bones."

"Regardless," she packs a snowball tightly in her hands, "Parker made a valid observation. That swing set is no good for defense." She throws another snowball at his head. He barely dodges it.

"Oh, it is _so_ on."

"I want Dr. Bones on my team!" Parker exclaims.

Despite her teasing, all three of them use the swing set as a hiding spot at one time or another in the next half hour. Most of their time is spent hitting each other in the chest, or on the arm, with the occasional well-timed shot hitting above the chest. Parker is elated, bragging the whole time on how well they are able to corner his father. Brennan smiles at both of them indulgently. She _is_ good at cornering Booth, but she has the feeling that he's letting his son "win".

Their unofficial game culminates in Parker and Brennan cornering Booth in a cluster of trees. Brennan is standing to the side of him, armed and ready for his throw, while Parker is standing behind her, prepared to be her back-up. Although Brennan stands armed and ready for minutes, Booth stands still, even despite Parker's taunts, assessing the situation.

"Come _on_," Brennan finally taunts, "Booth, are you porking out on me?"

Parker rolls over in the snow, overcome once again with giggles. Booth's laughter echoes in the coming evening and he drops his snowballs, one hand reaching around his stomach as he leans against the trees. "_Chickening out_, Bones," he laughs breathlessly, "The phrase is '_chickening_ out'!"

"That hardly makes any sense! Chickens aren't at all timid."

"Neither are pigs!"

"They are more likely to be docile than _chickens_."

In the background, Parker has stood up, but is still laughing. Booth uses the pause in their game to run over to his son and tackle him in the snow.

"She said '_porking out_', Dad!" Parker laughs.

"I'm right here, you know," Brennan points out, walking over to them.

"It's okay, Dr. Bones, I like it!" Parker exclaims. "That's _so_ much funnier than 'chickening out'. I'm going to use it at school. Don't worry, I'll give you credit!"

"Oh, Parks," Booth chokes, "Don't encourage her."

"I think he's asking to be defeated again, Parker."

"I think you're right!" He squeals, and he quickly takes off his gloves, attempting to tickle Booth, who could easily escape but pretends to be cornered. Brennan winks at him, standing just to the side.

"You're not going to get away that easily!" He tells her, and then pulls her to the ground with them.

/

**February 2009**

He cannot pinpoint exactly when spending his Friday nights with Brennan became their routine, and even his expectation. It had started with the occasional Friday night spent at the bar or her apartment, or in her office at the Jeffersonian, take-out containers of Chinese or Thai and coffee cups spread across the coffee table while she sat at her desk and he, usually to her chagrin, sat _on_ it, finishing up their paperwork, researching, or making paper airplanes.

Gradually, on some Friday nights when he didn't have Parker and he knew she was still working, he found himself at the Jeffersonian by 7 or 8pm, sometimes armed with take out and sometimes armed with an argument to convince her to call it a night and come out to dinner with him. On the nights when he convinced her to call it a night, she'd always protest, and yet he'd always manage to drag her out of the office. As Booth continued to make such insistences a habit, her protests grew half-hearted and she would find herself looking forward to his "unexpected" visits. The nights when he had Parker were never the same; on some of these nights, she'd find herself lonely. She would resent him for it during their periods when they were emotionally separated from each other. She'd closed herself off to prevent such things, but Seeley Booth was quickly becoming the exception to her every rule. He had barged right in to her life, full-speed ahead, before she could even find her bearings.

On the nights when he brought her dinner, sometimes she would throw him a bone and take a break so they could converse and eat together in her office. On a few occasions they had sat on the floor in Limbo while they ate. Some nights she would barely pay him any attention, shovel a few bites of food down her mouth, and then continue working, pausing every now and then to take another bite. On those nights, he'd sit and eat his dinner and watch her work, fascinated by her ability to completely ignore his presence if she so chose.

He eventually discovers that when it comes to watching her work, his favorite thing to watch is her working in Limbo. For all the sarcastic comments he made to his favorite-squint squad about placing so much passion and diligence into working with 5,000 year old bones, the truth was that he held a lot of reverence for them, in that regard. The existence of many of these people had been, for all intents and purposes, erased from history, and yet the respect that Brennan held for them was unwavering. He knew she didn't believe in psychology and hardly placed any stock in sentimentality, but he would hold to her grave one of her barely-known secrets: she was more sentimental than even she would give herself credit for.

He watched the way she slid a gloved finger over femurs and frontal bones, over chipped phalanges and clavicles. To her, there was a story in every bone, in every chip and every crack. It was as if she knew each mark would reveal truths about the history of life before their world. An examination of the marks and depressions, a completed skeletal reconstruction, and she had found the key to whoever this person had been. Booth had believed that one's physical body mattered little in the determination of who they really were - the soul held the key, and when one passed on, the remaining physical structure was merely a reminder of what once had been present, what really mattered.

Brennan, little by little, was showing him an alternative. She needed zero knowledge of a person's soul to know who they had been. The story was in the bones, for her, and _that_ belief - that a person's existence could never be erased as long as she held a piece of their physical body - was more hopeful than she wanted to admit.

Brennan asks him on one of these nights why he stayed with her so often. It was past 2 a.m., and he had been sitting with her since 7 that evening. They hadn't spoken much; she had allowed him to bring a boombox down with him and he'd spent most of the night playing DJ for her while she worked on a skull reconstruction. Coffee cups littered the small couch and there was a half-empty container of fries on the edge of her work table. She still occasionally picked at them. She surprises him by suddenly turning her attention from the skull after finishing the parietal and asking, "Why are you still here?"

A simple question, it may have seemed, but Booth knows that her seemingly simple questions usually hold the purpose of reading between the lines. She wasn't just asking him about tonight, and he knows that he cannot tell her the truth, so he settles for serving her a taste of her own medicine – he is beginning to understand why Brennan closes herself off in her scientific world. The literal is not only safer, but easier.

"I'm keeping you company, of course."

She glances quickly at her watch. "It's late."

With a grin, he sits up on the couch he'd been lounging on and stretches his arms. "Technically, it's early, right?"

Grinning back at him, she turns her attention back to the skull. "Yes, I suppose you're correct, Booth. It's _early_. If you had any plans for today, you're going to be tired."

"Hmmm, well, I do have plans, but I won't be tired for them."

She raises an eyebrow in response. "Oh?"

"Yeah, see," he grunts as he rises from the couch and walks to stand beside her, "You are going to finish this skull soon, because it's _2 a.m. on a Friday night_, and you need to get out of here, and then I'm going to make sure you get home. When _I_ get home, I'm going to pass out on the couch in my living room until 11a.m. or so, and then we're going to brunch."

"We are?"

"Yeah, Bones we are. Because that's what normal people do on a Saturday."

"Anthropologically speaking, at least in modern American culture, which is what I assume you are referring to when you say 'normal people', the custom is actually to have large morning meals together on _Sundays-_"

He sighs loudly, just to prove a point. "Yeah, yeah, I get it, Bones. We can still go to brunch on Saturdays."

While placing the finishing touches on the skull, she questions, "What if _I_ have plans?"

"I'd be willing to bet that those plans involve paperwork or identifying old bones or working on your latest manuscript, all of which can wait until after brunch. Especially because, you know. It's Saturday."

"I realize that."

"Come _ooonnnnn_, _Boooooneeess_, it'll be fun. You would really make me eat brunch all by myself after I stayed here with you past 2 in the morning?"

She shot him a rather aggravated looked, but relented with a sigh. "Sure, Booth, let's go to brunch. Am I correct in assuming you are going to insist on picking me up tomorrow morning?"

"But of course!"

"Well," she speaks with purpose, no longer acknowledging him as she begins to clean up her work space, "We'd better head on home, then. If you prove me right and you are tired tomorrow morning, you're going to be crabby."

"I will _not_."

She smiles indulgently at him, then speaks no more until they say goodbye in the parking lot.

Booth knows what Brennan cannot say. Just as she can see the chips in every bone she examines, he can see the chips he makes in her, barely recognizable, but definitely there. He can see the effects of his affections when she protests a little less to him intruding on her work, he can see it in the connection she makes with Parker, in the little smiles she gives them both. Though he usually remains unsure on how she feels about him, what he does know – it's enough. It is enough to convince him just how much he wants to make sure she never loses her trust in him. It is the answer to the question she asked that he will not give her.

He stays to know her truths.

/

**April 2009**

"Why did you turn him down, Bones?"

Brennan glances over to her partner, of course in the driver's seat. "Excuse me?"

Briefly, Booth glances back at her. "Collar. Why did you turn him down? Are you still upset that he rejected you at that… creep show?"

She keeps her gaze strictly out the windshield. "It's _not_ a 'creep show', and our professional discrepancies are completely separate from this."

After mumbling under his breath about Brennan fitting in with the crowd, Booth pesters, "Well, what is it then?"

"That's not really any of your business."

"_Boooooones_."

She did look over at him, then. "You're not stupid, Booth."

"What?"

"You are not stupid. I should have said that before when you expressed your concerns to me regarding your intelligence and spending time with scientists. What I said to you before was true, however, I'm realizing that it was likely not as reassuring as I meant it to be. Therefore, I apologize."

"Thanks, I appreciate that, but don't change the subject."

"I'm not!"

"Yes, you are, come on, I practically _taught_ you that!"

"You did no such thing."

"I did so."

"I didn't wish to engage in sexual intercourse with him."

No longer phased by her abrupt change in conversation or her bluntness, he pushes, "That's all there is to it, huh?"

"Also, he is not the type of person who will leave marks on me."

"Really?" Booth questions incredulously, thrown off his mark.

Tentatively she places her hand on her partner's. "Metaphorically, of course, _you_ have left marks on me, Booth. And I… I don't want those to fade."

"You _did_ understand me."

"Yes, as you understand me, even when you pretend not to."

"Thanks. For what it's worth, you've left marks on me, and those will never fade."

"You can't know that."

"Of course I know that. Max, Russ, your mother, they all left marks on you. Do you think they've faded?"

As predicted, she is silent for a good few minutes before responding. "Those marks… metaphorically I believe they may have dulled, but they would be permanent."

"Exactly. These marks, Bones, they don't disappear to make room for more. The marks build up, sometimes until we feel like we have no more space, but there always is. There has to be."

The two remain silent in contemplation for a significant amount of time. By the time Booth turns closer toward's Brennan's street, she has removed her hand from his and her tone is lighter in her next question.

"Booth? Can you explain something to me?"

"About marks?"

"No. I don't understand what you meant when you said, 'Beam Me Up, Scotty'."

/

**May 2009**

In the third year of their partnership, when she had believed Booth to be dead, she had done her best to fully compartmentalize his death and her developing feelings for her partner in a desperate attempt to protect herself and leave said feelings unheeded. She had hardly seen the use in considering anything so painful when all she thought she had to deal with in regards to him was what-ifs.

Instead, she wrote in her latest book about the helplessness Kathy sometimes felt in regards to her feelings for Andy. She wrote about betrayal and anger and unintentional regrets. She does not watch the news stories detailing the life of Pam. She denies the FBI when they ask her to write an obituary for her partner. She shows up to her sessions with Sweets but does not say a word unless it pertains to her work, and she begins formulating an argument to convince Cam to sever her partnership with the FBI.

In the fourth year of their partnership, when Booth is in a coma after brain surgery, she only gives a half-hearted attempt to compartmentalize her complete terror at what her partner has gone through. When Booth was dead, she could not fear for him. Now, she is scared for him, and scared for herself. Scared of going through what she did then, except she knows that it would be harder this time. She has only grown to care about him more in the past year.

Instead of completely ignoring her feelings, she writes about love. She writes about one of the many emotions that she still is not sure she believes in. She wonders if she's getting it right, if Booth would tell her that she 'hit the nail on the head'.

Instead of taking steps to completely cut his presence out of her life, she does not leave his bedside for over 72 hours. She knows Booth is sometimes bored with her chatter when he is awake, and the last thing she wants to do when he has no control over his movement or amused gazes or sarcastic retorts is bore him, so as she's writing, she reads to him. She knows it is illogical, that he cannot hear what she is saying to him, but she hopes that he does anyway. She hopes he is engaged in the crime if not the relationships between her characters.

She writes about love and she contemplates fairness. She tries to memorize the look on Parker's face when he sees his father lying lifeless in a hospital, so that she can scold her partner when he awakes for worrying his son. When Angela sits with her for a few hours one morning, her eyes are puffy and she cannot seem to stop sniffling, and when Angela hugs her and sobs, Brennan lets a few tears and a choked sob escape from herself before she remembers a promise she made to herself once regarding tears and Seeley Booth and it is a struggle, but she manages to hold herself together, at least on the outside.

After her partner wakes and she flees the country, she _does_ feel guilty about not being there for him every step of his recovery. She knows that if it were her in that coma, and she who had temporary amnesia, he wouldn't have left her side until he was sure she was mentally and physically stable again. Yet Brennan would rather deal with her guilt and the hurt she knows he may feel at her leaving than deal with the questions he'd surely have for her if he saw her crying at random intervals, for days on end. She uses up her strength making sure he will survive and once she is sure of that fact, she needs to recollect herself before she takes a risk she isn't ready for, before she risks the partnership she knows she will do everything to save.

She contemplates printing out the story she had read to him. She would print out a hard copy, delete the file from her computer, bind up the paper copy carefully with a string, and place it in a box under her bed with items from her childhood she can't bear to part with but can't bear to see, either.

In the end, she decides that she doesn't want to place Booth in that category. She deletes the file instead.

/

**October 2009**

Booth frustrates her sometimes.

No, that's not quite right, she thinks as she pauses from the email she's writing – she can't remember the line of thought she had anymore.

Booth frustrates her _most_ of the time, and she can't quite place why. They have been partners for four years. By now, his rather infuriating tendency to interrogate her dates like murder suspects and then proceed to be very clearly jealous does not surprise her, but she certainly doesn't understand it.

She's not always as blind as most people assume. She may not understand, or simply choose to ignore, most social contracts and all of the ridiculous unspoken "rules" in place for dating, but when it comes to her and Booth, she is sure of at least one fact: there _is_ a reason why so many of their friends, and outsiders, make comments about them.

She knows Booth stares at her sometimes. On a handful of occasions, she's caught herself doing the same – she's never hidden the fact that she finds his physical structure pleasing, and she wants to know everything she can about him. They are friends, after all.

She also knows on some level that the depth of their affection and time they spend together is unusual for "just partners", but she's never been conventional, and the closeness she had with Booth was just as comforting as it was terrifying, so she preferred not to question it.

Regardless of that preference, she still did question it, sometimes. She frequently thought back to a conversation she'd had with Jarred, years ago, regarding Booth and his unwillingness to take risks. She hadn't completely understood Jarred's point at the time – it made sense, and then it didn't. She learned, however, that although Booth was a gambler, he tended to be choosy in what he took gambles on, and he wasn't very likely to take gambles when it involved the people he cared about. It was part of what made him such a wonderful, loyal friend and father.

Ever since their first case together, she'd wonder sometimes why he wouldn't ask her out – but then, she never asked him out either, and she wasn't exactly shy about asking guys to dinner. She could understand the unwillingness to compromise their friendship, but the way he acted… so needlessly protective and threatening to her dates… sometimes she wondered.

She's thought about what she would say if he ever asked her out. She's never been able to come up with a consistent response. Some days, she feels like she would say yes, some days she feels like she would say no.

She's not even sure whether or not she _wants_ him to do it.

When it comes to Booth, she's sure that she trusts him. She's sure that she values their friendship very highly, and she's sure that she cares about him and wants him to be happy. She's not sure of anything else, and it's a constant perplexity.

Especially because Booth isn't the only one who's guilty of examining dates on a deeper level. Five minutes after she meets one of Booth's dates, she has them judged on their success, what type of person they are, if they would be "right" for Booth.

It's not like it's any of her business. She shouldn't care at all about who Booth dates.

She shouldn't, but she does.

/

**December 2009**

When Brennan and Booth leave the Jeffersonian one night, there is no discussion about their plans for the evening. Booth had picked Brennan up that morning. When he drove her home, he'd been staying for a while. It was Friday night, and although Brennan had declined Angela's invitation to go out with her, she'd been clear that she wanted to spend the night in, but not necessarily alone.

They didn't speak much on the drive back to her apartment. At a stoplight approximately four miles from her apartment, she asked Booth what he wants to eat. He shrugs; she suggests that she make a stir fry to use up the excess vegetables in her fridge. Nodding in the affirmative, Booth puts the car in park but does not shut off the engine when they reach her place. He walks her to her door, then turns to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"Do you need me to pick up anything for dinner at the market?"

"Sure," she smiles, "I'll start chopping the vegetables, but I could probably use some more rice."

"Alright, I'll pick up some beer, too."

"No need!" She shouts after him. "My fridge is fully stocked with your favorite!"

Pausing in the hallway, Booth turns and smiles widely although he knows she cannot see him, then continues walking towards the SUV. He is struck by how domestic the situation is, and for a moment, he cannot breathe. The moment passes quickly; he doesn't want to keep her waiting long.

As usual, she does not allow him to help cook dinner but she lets him set the table. She still doesn't have a TV but she's turned on a hockey game on her radio to keep him occupied. After setting the table, he kicks back on what has become 'his' chair in her kitchen and sips a beer while he watches her work. Her hair is bunched in a messy ponytail; she had kicked off her shoes and shrugged off her jacket, leaving her in a deep blue tanktop and fitted brown pants. As always, she looks good.

They eat dinner mostly in silence, listening to the remainder of the game. After it finishes, they engage in light conversation about Parker and the lectures at the Jeffersonian for kids that he wants to attend the next week. She shows him a letter she received from Russ. They debate the implications of teenage pranks on the news that morning.

After the dishes are placed in the washer and the table is clean, they sit closer than necessary on her couch and Brennan puts her 5-disc CD changer on random. Booth is impressed when Metallica's remix of "Turn the Page" hits his ears. They do not air-guitar, but Booth hums the melody and Brennan nods her head to the tune.

It is cooler that night; after finishing her third beer of the night Brennan gets up to use the restroom, start her fireplace, and grab another beer for her and Booth. He's found a deck of cards that managed to slip under her couch, so he teaches her how to play poker, and by the time she grows bored with it, it is close to 11pm.

She hands him another beer without asking if he wants another one. He's had one too many that night already if he plans on getting home, and they both know it.

"Bones," he laughs, "If you want me to stay, all you have to do is ask."

"I still have some of your clothes here," is all she says in reply.


	3. Part III: 2010

**Part III: 2010**

"_But suddenly now, I know where I belong"_

_/_

**February 2010**

She awoke on the platform, her cheek pressing against a mandible, the lights blinding her vision. "Bones," she hears a quiet voice speak, "Let me get you home."

Registering Booth's voice, Brennan shakes herself awake and sits herself up on the floor. "Booth?" She examines the scene before her and remembers that she had remained at the lab late to finish a skull reconstruction and perform further analysis on a body the team had just gained access to. "What are you doing here?"

"I'd ask you the same thing, but I know the answer. The night security guard called me; he said you'd fallen asleep on the floor with your bones three times tonight. I thought perhaps he was exaggerating, but I should have known better."

"I could use some coffee," she manages to say, "Want to get some?"

She is still rubbing her eyes, trying to shake awake, and Booth keeps his hand on her shoulder as he kneels next to her. "Of course I do, but _tomorrow morning_. You need to get some sleep, babe."

She is tired enough that she lets the term of endearment slip. "I need to finish this reconstruction."

"You fell asleep _on top _of your reconstruction. You need to get some sleep. Come on."

She wants to protest but his body is warm and she finds herself shivering, as the lab is cool and her lab coat had slipped off her body sometime while she was sleeping. She feels Booth placing his jacket around her shoulders and kissing her temple before sitting her up on an examination table. It was then she noticed his flannel pants.

"Were you sleeping?"

"Not yet," he replies, and she can't tell if that was a lie or not. She is still cold. Booth is organizing the body for her and picking the pieces she had not finished of the skull off the floor, and he is putting them in the wrong order and she wants to yell at him to do it right, but her head is pounding.

After he finishes, she hops down from the table to follow him out the door, but finds herself dizzy. She is unsteady on her feet and wobbles before her partner catches her in his arms.

"Are you getting sick? No wonder you keep falling asleep. If I see you in the lab tomorrow, I'm going to incessantly bug you until you go back home."

"Booth-"

"No buts." His arms are still around her and he is leading her out the doors. "I'm taking you home, making sure you get in bed, and I'm going to call Cam first thing tomorrow morning and tell her she's not allowed to let you work."

"You're not Cam's boss."

"No, but she _is_ your boss, and she'll listen to me."

"I'll claim one of my freebies."

"Illness overrules that."

By this time, he's unlocked the doors to his car electronically and is ushering her into the passenger's seat. She swats his hands away when he tries to buckle her in, but she does stop him from shutting the door by grabbing his sleeve.

"Why did the security guard call you?"

"Uh," Booth struggles to find an acceptable answer, knowing she wouldn't appreciate that he had asked all of them to call him whenever she was in past 9pm, just to keep tabs on her. "Uh… I don't know, Bones, probably because I'm your partner."

"You're lying," she insists, but doesn't push. Booth had left his car running, and the heat felt good. He fetches one of the emergency blankets from the trunk and places it over her before getting into the driver's seat. She is asleep again within minutes.

The next time she wakes, Booth is tucking her in to her own bed.

"You could have woken me up," she mumbles, contradicting her stubborn tone when she buries her head into her pillows.

"I know," he half-laughs, "But it's always nice to have people take care of you when you're sick."

"'Mmm not sick," she mumbles again.

"Whatever you say, Bones," he laughs affectionately, running his fingers through her hair after she settles in. He places her cell phone on her nightstand. "Promise me you'll call if you need anything. Otherwise, I'll stop by tomorrow."

"Mmmmkay," she is half-asleep again, and he is a little worried that she isn't protesting any more.

"Good night, then."

"G'night Booth," she whispers, and he barely hears it, but she finishes with, "Thanks."

/

**April 2010**

The two partners walk silently out of the Hoover that night towards Booth's car. Brennan seems relatively unfazed by the conversation they've just had with Sweets, though Booth cannot tell for sure. He is usually able to tell if Brennan is bothered by whatever Sweets has fed them but unwilling to show it. This time, Booth is at a loss, though he suspects it may be related to how much _he_ is bothered by what Sweets has said. He finds himself gazing at his partner, in short intervals, tempted to burst with the feelings he's been desperate to confess for months, though lacking the courage to actually do so. Eventually, Brennan notices his unease and turns to face him.

"Booth? Did you have something you wanted to say to me?"

"No, Bones, it's nothing."

"Don't lie to me. I can tell. Is what Sweets said about us bothering you? You're always the one who is calling him a 'twelve-year-old-boy'."

For so long, all he had wanted was her, and he had come to the realization somewhere over the years that he would rather be by her side, even if it meant keeping his distance, than risk pushing her away just because he wanted more from her than she believed she could give.

As they had continued to grow closer, as he carefully filed away in his brain the small, seemingly unmeaning to those who didn't know her confessions of the emotional connection she sometimes desired, he knew he wanted to be the one who gave that to her. He'd sacrificed so much for her already. She hadn't asked for it, but on some level she had to know. He was, as she had told him once, only human, and the promise of what he was sure they could be grated on his nerves more as of late.

He is so incredibly tempted to listen to Sweets, to push her to break the stalemate that he believed they were in. Sweets was probably right in at least that one aspect – they were both comfortable in where they were together, and it would be so easy to continue with it. It would be safe. Of course, he _was_ somewhat dissatisfied with their current arrangement. Of course he wanted more.

The difference was that he wasn't sure if Brennan did, and even _if_ she did want more, he knows she isn't ready for it – at least not in the way Sweets is proposing. Brennan didn't make spontaneous decisions, she didn't take large risks with herself, even with those she loved the most. Especially with those she loved the most.

Although a proposal of a change in their relationship would not be out of the blue, she'd be pretending that it was, and she would hide behind their work, among other things, to push him away. Booth knows that, and he isn't quite ready for her rejection, even if he doesn't want to stay the same, either.

"Booth?"

He smiles his best charm-smile and prays that she won't see through him. "Sweets isn't bothering me, Bones, I know he doesn't understand us as well as he thinks he does. I just hope you don't let his theories shake what _you_ think about us."

"You said it yourself. All Sweets has is theories. I don't need a psychologist to tell me about our relationship."

He smiles again, a brighter one this time, and swings his arm around her shoulders as they walk away into the night together.

He has to make a change, but he is going to do it as rationally as possible. For that, he needs time.

/

**May 2010**

"You almost died, Booth." The reality of her words strike her to her core, and she's struggling to breathe. She's struggling to keep herself upright. "That can happen again. What if, next time, I can't get to you?"

"It's not going to happen again." He is whispering, but he sounds confident. He has a solid grasp on her waist.

"I envy your ability to substitute optimism for reality."

"You know what? Maybe you just need to take some time off. Go to a beach. Lay in the sun."

"I might need more than a little time."

"Don't make any decisions about your future right now." He pauses. "Please."

She averts her gaze from his own to her shoes. "I'm just saying…"

"Hey, Bones, it's like… you know when a dentist gives you anesthetic and tells you not to operate any heavy machinery or make any important decisions within 24 hours? Alright, this case was bigger than a root canal. Come on, let's just go back inside and have one more drink. Come on. Just one."

He reaches for her hand, but she pulls away from him entirely, moving to hail a cab.

"No. I'm tired, Booth, and I… I… I'm going to go home."

He looks defeated, and he sounds as desperate as he feels. Later, she will remember his voice and his face and will finally realize how scared he was. "Alright. Come on. Let's-we'll get you in the cab."

As a cab pulls up and she's pulling away from him, again, he continues, "I know, it's-it's been a long, long day. Alright, get in there. Alright?" Once she was safe in the cab, he half-sobs, "Hey. I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

She doesn't respond, her eyes pleading. As he closes the door for her, and the taxi drives away, she turns around to look at him. They're back at the beginning, and he's terrified. He wishes he knew how they got here. He's angry that Heather Taffet is still causing them pain after she's been put away.

...

He doesn't sleep all night. After a few hours of tossing and turning, he gathers up everything in his apartment he can think of that reminds him of her, tosses it all in a box, and drives to the Hoover. He raids his desk and his computer. He needs an argument. He needs evidence. He needs to convince her to stay with him, stay in D.C., stay with their partnership. He needs her.

He jumps when his phone rings. He's elated when it's her, but that elation drops below the level he was feeling the previous night when he hears her voice.

"Bones-"

"I can't," she chokes, "I'm worried, Booth. I'm worried all the time. I'm worried about you, I'm worried that I won't be able to get to you if something happens, I can't-" His heart breaks when her voice does. "I can't sleep, I just can't do this right now."

"Come over," he pleads, "We'll talk this out."

"I need a break. I can't do this right now."

"Alright, hey, I understand, let's not talk about it then." His hands are shaking so badly, he can barely keep a grip on the phone. "Let's do something crazy, something completely unrelated to work. Like… Disney World. Disney World is a break. Disney World is as far away from death and murderers and nightmares as you can get. It's the Happiest Place On Earth for a reason, Bones. The scariest thing might be some guy dressed up as Goofy."

He hears her laugh briefly through her tears, but she is resolved. "I'm sorry," she whispers.

"You're… you're not going to break us up, are you?"

"No. I don't know. Not right now. Just for a little while?"

"You're rambling. You don't ramble. Please just come over. Or, alright, I can come to you."

"I need to get away."

Her resolve and his desperation finally pushes him to a breaking point. His fear and his disappointment turns to anger. "Then why did you call me?"

"We've been partners for five years… you're my best friend… I won't leave without talking to you first."

"Listen, why don't-"

"_Please, _Booth."

He takes a deep breath, and they both remain silent for minutes. He finally asks, "Where would you go?"

"There's a dig currently underway in Indonesia… in the Maluku Islands. I received an invitation to participate in the project weeks ago, but initially declined. The head of the project offered me the chance to come and see the dig whenever I wished."

She sounded so definitive, he would have suspected her intention to join this project for weeks if he didn't know her better. She would have told him about it sooner if she had been serious about it. Wouldn't she?

"For how long?"

"A few weeks, a month maybe. I don't know. As long as I need."

"Bones…"

"This would not be a permanent arrangement, Booth."

"How can I know that?"

"I _promise_ you."

"You don't believe in promises."

"Yes, but you do."

"How can you make a promise to me if you don't even know how long you're going to be gone?"

"I thought that was the point of promises… making them even when you are unsure of the outcome, based on how you _want_ the outcome to be. You do it all the time."

"I'm asking you not to run out on me, Bones. Please."

"I'm not running out on you."

"Yes, you are!"

It was her turn to be angry. "I'm doing to do this, regardless of what you think. I was hoping to have your support."

If he couldn't convince her to stay based on his needs, based on their partnership, he thought, just maybe, her sense of duty to the Jeffersonian would keep her there. "What about your job?"

"I have more than enough vacation time. Or I can take a sabbatical."

"…"

"Say something."

He was out of options. He hadn't had enough time to put together a convincing case. "What do you want me to say? Good luck? Have fun? I'm glad you're making the decision to leave the country for an indefinite amount of time?"

The silence between them returns, and it is nowhere near as comfortable as the silences between them on a quiet night at the bar that he has grown accustomed to.

Finally, she speaks. "Can you do me one favor? Please?"

At least it was something. "Okay."

"Gather everyone up. Angela, Dr. Hodgins, Sweets, my interns. Everyone. Tell them to meet us outside of the diner in four hours. Okay?"

"…Okay."

...

It wasn't enough. Four hours had been just enough time for him to call the group, let a little bit more information slip to them than Brennan had wanted him to share, and gather up as much as he could find. When he met her at the diner, half an hour earlier than the time the rest of the group was supposed to meet them, he started to present her with his evidence, but she had practically begged him to stop.

When Brennan tearfully told the group of her plans, Sweets had been dumbfounded and remained silent for a good portion of the time, Cam had been angry, Daisy was openly upset while the rest of the interns mostly kept their mouths shut, unsure of their fates. He hadn't been able to find his voice and Angela had cried and expressed everyone's desires for her to stay, but ultimately she'd understood and made Brennan promise her, if no one else, that she would keep in touch, and make good on her word to return.

Hodgins had hugged her tightly, told her that he loved her, and had given her a list of everything he had been able to research in three hours about reptiles and insects and edible plants of the Indonesian jungle.

He'd be so angry with himself for it later, but he had been too hurt and too scared to plead with her anymore, and he hadn't been sure if he should be angry at himself or angry with her or angry at the situation or all three, and when she turns pleading eyes towards him, he looks away.

"Booth," she whispers, and he still can't deny her when she needs him, so he hugs her tight for longer than necessary, and makes her promise him that she'll stay safe, but he refuses to meet her eyes.

...

His nights in the week or so after her departure are spent at the bar with too much whiskey and too many regrets. He thinks of Sweets pushing him to tell her how he feels and wonders if it would have made a difference.

He hooks up with two women within two weeks after she leaves. Catherine, a sexy marine biologist, and Hannah, a free-spirited reporter who was in D.C. on a brief leave from covering the war in Afghanistan. They are both beautiful, relatively baggage-free, and willing enough to shower him with affection, at least in bed, but his releases are unsatisfactory and it isn't their eyes that he sees. After a few days with each of them, he withdraws even further. All he feels is emptiness.

...

Three and a half weeks after her departure, she calls him.

He's only heard from her twice since she left, both short letters detailing her whereabouts, her activities, and her deepest apologies, but she has enough respect for their relationship to recognize that the only way she can make amends is in person, and she tells him she hopes she still means enough to him, even after running away, that he'll listen to her side.

He _is_ angry with her, and when the phone rings and he recognizes the number she'd left him in her last letter, he considers letting it ring to voicemail, but his mind runs amuck with possibilities of her injured or otherwise in trouble, so he answers.

"Bones?"

"_Booth_." She sounds relieved to hear his voice. Then she is silent, and Booth admittedly finds some validation in her lack of confidence. At least, he thinks, she recognizes that her sudden departure was selfish.

He suddenly finds he is not in the mood for pleasantries or awkward silences. "Do you need something?" he asks, more harshly than he intends.

"_Do you think…"_ she pauses, and he decides not to push. "_Could you get away for a long weekend?"_

"Where?" he asks stupidly.

"_Here. I've arranged for you to be able to fly out here, I wasn't supposed to, but-"_

"Are you serious?"

"_Of course, why would I-"_

"You, all of a sudden, pack up and leave the country, just like that, like you're going for a walk in the park, you don't call me for almost a month, and you think you can call out of nowhere and expect me to drop everything and fly to the Maloco Islands just because you _ask_ me to?"

_"The _Maluku _Islands, Booth, and I asked you because-"_

"I don't care," he hisses, and hangs up the phone.

...

He regrets the way he treated her only minutes after hanging up the phone on her. Though he is angry that she is jerking him around a little, knowing Bones, it is probably unintentional, and mostly, he is angry because he is hurt at her abandonment and it was a big step for her to call him from out the country and ask him to meet her.

He thinks of Catherine and Hannah, and how much he had wished when he was with them that it was Brennan instead. He thinks of the box he'd been keeping under his desk ever since she left. He thinks of the Jeffersonian and how _off_ things have been lately. He feels as though he has a right to be angry, but he realizes he doesn't really want to ignore her.

If she ever calls him back.

She does, in the middle of the night in Indonesia.

"_I know you're angry," _she says as soon as he picks up the phone, _"You have a right to be angry. But I really need to talk to you, Booth. Please"-_

"You don't have to say anything else," he interrupts her, "Just let me know when I need to be at the airport."

...

They sit silently on the beach for hours, and as the late morning turns to late afternoon, Booth's thoughts gradually turn from anger and frustration and self-loathing to the message he sees in the waves as they hit the shore, shifting the distribution of the sand, but never changing the composition. As he thinks of his relationship with his partner, Brennan finally turns to him, and when he dares to look at her he sees the haunting in her eyes that had drawn him to her the first time they met.

"I have a lot of things to apologize for," she begins sincerely, her gaze burning into his so deeply, his breathing constricts.

He gives her his eyes for only a few more moments before returning his gaze to the sea.

"Maybe not as many things as you think."

She tilts her head. She's surprised at his response, but doesn't show it. She continues with her original line of thought. "I don't regret leaving."

Booth says nothing. He's hurt, but not surprised.

"I do, however," she continues as she reaches out for his arm, losing her nerve halfway and dropping her hand to the sand, "regret my hasty departure. My fight-or-flight response is very heavily biased towards flight, Booth. It's the only way I know to make myself safe again."

"I know," he replies simply, eager to control his conflicting emotions and curious as to where their conversation is headed. It's not often that she takes the lead.

"I do feel safe again. In some ways. Still, it feels… _wrong_ that I left you dangling. Unfair."

This time, he smiles. "You left me _hanging_, Bones."

She nods her head at the correction. This time, she does grasp his arm. "I'm sorry, Booth. I really am. The cases, the Gravedigger, the nightmares, worrying about you, it was all too much for me. I didn't have any control over myself. I just needed…"

"To get away," he finishes for her. He focuses his eyes on her hand. "You said it. You meant it. I was just so focused on trying to keep you with me… I didn't pay any attention to how much you needed that."

"My weeks here have been enjoyable. They have been routine, unsurprising. Predictable."

"Ah," he closes his eyes. "Safe. Like you're in control." He hurts, even more, that _he_ couldn't be the one to make her feel safe. He's not sure she'll ever understand.

"Has it been long enough?"

"Not quite," she replies honestly.

"When are you," he pauses, "_Will_ you come back to D.C.?"

"I'll be relinquishing the control that I have gained here, if I return."

"You would be making a _choice_, Bones. Choices always leave control to you."

"In some ways."

"What do you mean?"

"I assumed, when I left, that if I came here, my thoughts would be consumed by history, by identification methods, chips in bones. The climate, the local culture, the scorching heat of the sun leaving little time for focusing on anything but the task at hand. I was wrong. I found myself wondering about you, about Angela, about Dr. Hodgins."

"Have you been wondering about your job? _Our _job?"

"Only briefly in the past weeks have I taken the time to wonder about what I am missing at the Jeffersonian. But of course I've wondered about our partnership, Booth. _We_ are important to me. You should know that."

"I missed you too."

"For once, my reasons for remembering "home" have had very little to do with work. The exception seems to be that so much of who we are is dependent on our business partnership. That fact… that for once I have things to return to outside of the job…"

"That's huge, Temperance. That's great."

"It scares me."

"So what do you want to do?"

"I asked you here," she begins, "Because I've missed you, and because I told you before that you are my best friend and I wouldn't leave without telling you first. I did tell you where I was going, but there was so much that I blew away. I'm not sure that I am ready to go back, but," she pauses for what feels like forever, "But I want you with me."

He swallows the lump in his throat and struggles to find his words. "I was so _angry_ with you for leaving."

"I know."

"But I was hurt, moreso than I was angry."

"I know."

"But mostly, I was hurt and angry because I wanted you with me."

"I know."

"I can take a few more days than just a long weekend, but then I have to return to D.C. Come back with me, Bones. Even if you need to take a break from working cases with me. Come back with me."

"We're still the center... aren't we?"

"Always."

"Okay, then."

/

**July 2010**

_July 14th_

_Sea World, Orlando, Florida_

Booth finds his partner right where he suspected she would be – sitting at the bottom of the cold concrete steps in the underwater viewing area for the bottlenose dolphins. She is leaning against the railing to her left, her knees curled up against her chest, her hands at her feet. Two calves were playfully circling each other fairly close to Brennan's view. Booth thought she must be fairly melancholic.

Silently, he moves towards her and sits next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as he lowers himself to the ground. In response, she shifts her weight to rest her head against his shoulder, grasping his free hand in her own. They sit in silence for what felt like hours, Brennan watching the dolphins and remembering, Booth mostly watching his partner and wondering what she was thinking.

"You know," Brennan finally spoke, far past the park closing time, "Dolphins, like humans, develop long-lasting social bonds and prefer to live in groups. Cetaceans and primates have been shown to occupy very similar cognitive spaces. Intelligent, adaptable, sometimes deemed 'tamable' creatures such as _Tursiops truncates_ thus have become the targets of personification for centuries. I can no longer remember why my mother loved dolphins so much. For so long, I was convinced she must have loved them because they are considered so much like us, but freer."

"You've changed your mind?"

"Of course, I can never know for sure, Booth, but… I would like to think she loved dolphins more because they are so…"

"Mystic? Graceful?"

"She would have loved those words."

"How would you have said it?"

"I don't know. Guileless. Candid. Intelligent without knowing dissatisfaction."

"I don't know if you can call carnivores guileless, Bones. Anyway, aren't you personifying them?"

"Yes, but we certainly can't know how the dolphins view themselves."

"Yeah, it's a Catch-22, isn't it?"

"A what?"

"Nevermind. Listen. Regardless of why your mother loved dolphins so much, I still think they represent a pureness, a playfulness, sometimes, the ideals of a group, whether that is true of them or not. I think this is fitting for your mother."

"Thanks, Booth. Dad says she would have loved you, you know."

"He does?"

"Yes. Russ and Dad have always said I'm most like him… my mother, she was what you would call the heart. She was the one who wanted to see the good in everyone. My dad used to say," her breath hitched, "He used to say that she was the one who would make the world shine."

"You listen to me Bones." He places his hands on her shoulders to look her solidly in the eye. "You and your father, you're both scientists at heart, you both have this insatiable hankering for an unadulterated understanding of the world. But Max, although a good person, is quicker to judge and even quicker to shoot and ask questions later. That's just the kind of man he is. _You_ always stop to think. You always ask the difficult questions. You seek the truth before passing judgment. _Those_ qualities come from your mother, Temperance. And from your heart. And just so you know, _you_ make the world shine too."

As a few tears slip down her cheeks, she closes her eyes in an attempt to regain her composure, overwhelmed at the words Booth has spoken.

"Why are you always so nice to me, Booth? Why do you have so much faith in me when I am never sure?"

She doesn't notice his inner debate. She doesn't notice the resolve in his eyes because she isn't really paying attention. She doesn't notice the shift in the universe at that moment. She _does_ notice the shift in his voice when she replies.

"Listen, Temperance. I want you to know something. I _need_ you to know something. I need you to promise me that you will listen, really listen, to what I am saying before you bolt. Understood?"

"Booth, I don't-"

"Understood?"

"Okay, Booth. Okay. I understand."

"I love you."

He stops her with two fingers to her lips before she can respond. "I don't mean this in an 'atta-girl' kind of way. I mean this in the 'I want to be with you in 30 or 40 or 50 years' kind of way. I _love_ you. I told you once that you would always be my family. The truth is, you will always be a little something more."

"You... you love me."

"Yes. Bones, listen-"

"You love me? You... you _can't_ love me, Booth."

"Excuse me?"

She pulls herself completely out of his arms, standing up on the stairs and shifting restlessly. "You can't love me. You can't love this. You know how I feel about relationships. You know I'm not sure if I believe in love. How can you love someone like that?"

Booth stands up himself, ready to go after her if she runs. "I _understand_ your viewpoints. I don't agree with them, but I understand why you do."

"It can't be that simple!"

"I don't understand where you are going with this."

"_I don't understand where YOU are going with this!_" she cries, already making her way out of the exhibit, her voice broken by shaken breaths.

"Please don't freak out on me. I'm not here to push you into anything. I'm not expecting anything in return. I just need you to know. Look, a few months back, when Sweets was discussing his book with us? He was right about one thing - someone needed to break that stalemate. I needed to break the stalemate and let you know how I really feel. That someone _really loves_ you, Temperance. Someone who knows who you really are."

"You can be so selfish sometimes! You say you know how I feel but tell me you love me anyway? What do you expect me to do with this information? You can't expect me to believe you are happy just telling me how you feel! You can't honestly expect me to believe you _don't_ want something more."

"You can't expect _me_ to believe you are as naive as you pretend to be regarding other people's emotions. This can't be such a huge surprise."

"It's not," she sobs, "That's not... that's irrelevant. What do you want me to do, Booth?"

"I just want you to know, Bones. That's all." He sounds desperate, and he feels his throat closing up. "I just want you to know."

"Why? Because you think it might suddenly spark my desire to pursue a monogamous relationship? Because you think it will contribute to changing my mind about love? Because you think knowing will suddenly help fix all the pain I've felt in my life from people I love leaving me?"

"I know it's not going to magically fix _anything_, alright, I just want you to know that I think I have proven to you over and over again that I will always be here for you, and it is because you are my friend, and my family, and because I _love_ you. You keep asking me things like 'Why are you so nice to me?' and 'Why do you always stay?'. I can't lie to you forever."

"You did leave me once, Booth," she chokes out, "And you almost left me twice."

"I'm _sorry_ about that incident with my fake death, you know that. And I never gave up in that coma. I heard you, you know. I really did."

"Tell me this is okay with you," she chokes out, "Look into my eyes and honestly tell me you will be satisfied if our relationship continues as it has been after confessing your feelings."

"If I am honest, I would like to give a relationship a shot. I'm that guy. I will always be that guy."

"What guy?"

"The guy who knows right from the beginning what is right in a relationship. The guy who, in 30 or 40 or 50 years, looks at his significant other and says, 'I always knew you were the one for me'."

"Your evidence is anecdotal."

"I'm that guy. I really, honestly believe that you should give us a chance."

"Yet you say you were never going to ask me that?"

"I was. Just...not tonight."

"Why not?"

"I told you, pushing you into a relationship wasn't my intention. I know I can't ask you this spontaneously. But it's important to me that you know the truth. I thought you'd respect that."

"I'm not a gambler, Booth."

"Bones-"

"Sweets said one of us needed to take a gamble, didn't he? You are right, you are the gambler. I'm not. I'm a scientist. I don't know how to change."

"I'm not asking you to. I would _never_ ask you to. You are perfect just the way you are."

"I don't know how to change. I don't know how." Her voice breaks again. She doesn't try to hide her tears. "I can't be who you would want me to be, Booth. I'd only wind up hurting you. I can't-"

With a sigh, Booth says nothing in response, but takes his partner in his arms and holds her tightly so she cannot run. While rubbing her back, he whispers, "I'm taking you back to the hotel. We won't mention this for the rest of the trip, alright?"

"We can't forget this happened."

"No, you're right. But until we get back to D.C., we're going to pretend it hasn't."

"We can't-"

"We sure as hell can, and we will. Because we didn't get a chance to see Shamu today, so we are going to tomorrow morning before our trip back, and I'll let you prattle off facts about killer whales for a while, and then we're going to be ridiculous on the plane ride back and terrorize our neighbors, just as always."

"Orcas," she sniffs, "They're orcas."

"Yes, Bones, exactly. We'll deal with this later, okay? I'm sorry that I freaked you out."

"Booth… I… I…"

"Don't say anything. You don't have to. This is my fault."

"No! No, this is not your fault, you're right, I should have expected this, I should be able to give you more of an answer. Please don't look so sad. This is why you can't love me-"

"_Stop it_," he hisses, "Just stop it. We're not talking about this anymore."

She wants to argue, but she doesn't have it in her. Her insides feel like jelly and her mind is clouded and somehow she's not so sure about all the declarations she just gave him about her and relationships.

They walk out of the park arm-in-arm but they don't speak a word to each other until they say good night.

...

_July 17__th_

_Washington, D.C._

_10:30pm_

The sound of the phone ringing startles both Angela and Jack out of their slightly euphoric, post-steamy-bout-in-the-shower state. Jack, who at the moment would quickly admit to being reduced to a one-track mind, grouchily ignores the ringing and reaches for the lotion Angela had placed next to him on the bed, while Angela swats his hand away and reaches over him to pick up the phone. "Hodgins-Montenegro residence."

"Hi, Angela, it's Brennan."

Waving one hand in Jack's direction, she mouths, "It's Brennan," and wriggles herself out of his grasp. "What's up, Bren?"

"Am I interrupting something?"

Jack is still close enough to hear Brennan's voice through the phone, and while he mutters, "Yes," Angela swats at him again and points to the Caller ID. Jack instantly recognized the number for Brennan's office.

"No, not at all, sweetie," Angela reassures, "What can I do for you?"

"Can you… do you have time to talk? I need… some advice from someone who doesn't always think so logically."

"Gee, thanks, but of course. Just hold on a second, alright?"

Placing the phone temporarily on the nightstand, Angela fetches her towel from the bathroom to wrap around her head, absent-mindedly slips into one of Jack's spare bathrooms, and returns to their bed to pick up the wireless phone. She plants a warm kiss on his lips and whispers, "Sorry babe, Bren sounds like she needs me," before leaving the room.

"Sorry, sweetie, I figured Hodgins didn't need to overhear our girl talk."

"You two were busy. It's late, were you planning on sexual intercourse? I'm sorry, I can discuss this with you another time-"

Angela swiftly cuts her off. "You will do no such thing, so don't worry about it. I have caller ID, you know. I know you're calling from your office. What are you doing there so late? It's been weeks since you've been there so long."

Angela hears a sigh, perhaps of defeat, from the other line. "That is not relevant to our current conversation. Listen, Ange, I'm… confused."

"Is this about Booth?"

"Why would you jump to such a conclusion?"

"Because," Angela replies exasperatedly, "I'm not blind, you know. Ever since you two came back from Florida, you've been dancing around each other like a pair of awkward teenagers. So, is this about Booth?"

"Yes."

Angela would later admit to feeling slight panic when Brennan didn't attempt to deny it.

"Okay. Okay. Take a deep breath, and start from the beginning."

"Why do I need to take a deep breath? My heart rate is normal; I'm not overworked or panicking-"

"_You're_ not," Angela interrupts, "but _I_ might be. This is huge, Bren. Do it for me."

"You don't even know what it is I wish to discuss with you."

"No, but I have a few solid guesses. Take a deep breath, and start from the beginning."

"Do you remember the conversation we had at that small espresso bar just after we became friends? One of the first questions you asked me was where I saw myself in five or ten years. The answer that I gave you was not revealing of any emotional connections or relationships primarily because at the time I had no emotional expectations. Back then, my expectations included maintaining my standing as one of the world's top forensic anthropologists and maintaining a highly successful lifestyle and status in my career. Although at the time there was no way I could be sure I would remain a best-selling author, technically that would fit into my expectations of remaining successful in my career. That's all I told you."

Angela laughs. "Of course that's all you told me. At the time, I was hurt that you hadn't said you expected to still be friends with me."

"Precisely," Brennan continues, "Because I didn't. I never expected myself to have any friends, not after my parents' disappearance. I never expected to have attachments, emotional or otherwise, to anyone or anything, really, outside of my career. I never expected to love anyone. I assumed that, at the core, I would not change."

"Except that you're wrong," Angela points out, "You _do_ have emotional attachments now, whether you're ready to admit that or not."

"I know," she whispers, "I know. Despite my better judgment and inherent distrust, I love Russ. I love my father. I love you and Hodgins. Booth…" She pauses at the mention of her partner. Angela notices, but does not push. "When I was in Guatemala, I missed you both, although it took me quite some time to not only recognize that, but also accept it. Initially I was so certain that Booth would be alright, after he woke from his coma, but I was so _scared_ for him the entire time I was there. For once, it was causing me more pain to be away from someone. Somewhere in my years of working at the Jeffersonian, my priorities have shifted."

Angela could not help but smile. "I miss you when you are gone too."

"Thank you, Angela. My _point_," she sounds confused again, "is that while I told Booth that I don't know how to change, was I failing to recognize the ways in which I have changed?"

"Hold on. When did you tell Booth that you didn't know how to change? What happened?"

"I have been angry and frustrated with him for days, for making the mistake of believing he could expect so much from me. Was he recognizing something within me that I have not? I am not convinced that I can be who Booth wants me to be, but maybe I was wrong to tell him so."

"You REALLY need to back up. When did you tell Booth that you didn't know how to change?"

"When he told me he loves me."

Angela was speechless.

"As loathe as I am to admit this, Booth knows me. I've shared quite a bit about my feelings and my past with him that I would not share with others. He knows exactly how I feel about monogamous relationships and emotional attachments and love, and he knows why, and I was so _angry_ with him for expecting me to simply, in his words, 'give us a shot'. He means far more to me than that; I don't want to risk our partnership on something so seemingly nonchalant. I thought I meant more than that to him as well, so when he asked me to take the chance, I made the assumption that I must have been wrong thinking as such. I didn't understand why he was asking me to change that. I realize now that he really wasn't. I'm not sure what I am supposed to do."

"Okay. Okay, Brennan? When I tell you that you need to slow down and start from the beginning, you _really_ need to start from the beginning. I'm not going to ditch out on this conversation, but this is _not_ a discussion you have with your best friend over the phone at 11PM. This is the conservation you need to have with your best friend in person, in your pajamas, with a gallon of cookie dough ice cream."

"I hardly see why."

"Of course not, but trust me. Listen. Stay in your office, and give me half an hour. Whatever you do, _don't_ do any more serious thinking. Put this conversation on pause. Examine some of your favorite 5000-year-old bones, work on your book, just don't _think_ about Booth."

"Angela-"

"This is not an option, Bren. See you in half an hour."

Immediately after hanging up with her best friend, Angela scurries back into the bedroom, where Jack is sitting in bed reading an entomology journal. Angela quickly discards her towels, slips on panties, a bra, and her previously discarded pair of sweatpants before raiding Jack's drawer for a sweatshirt.

"Is everything alright, babe? It's been weeks since Dr. B. has stayed at the office so late."

"Something happened between her and Booth when they were in Florida," Angela explains, putting her hair in a ponytail and double checking the items in her purse. "I'm not sure what, but it sounded pretty big. I'm going to go over there and talk to her about it, alright? I'm sorry babe."

"Don't worry about it," Hodgins assures, kissing his wife tenderly. "Just take care of Dr. B. I knew those two were trouble."

"You're right, and I will. Be back later."

"Call if you need anything. This includes kicking Booth's sorry ass!"

...

True to her word, Angela makes her way into Brennan's office half an hour later, her arms full with an extra pair of sweats, two cups of coffee in a take-out container, and a grocery bag full of microwave popcorn, chocolate truffles, and three flavors of ice cream.

Upon noticing her friend, Brennan rushes out of her chair to help her with the bags.

"This is unnecessary. I need to speak with you, I don't need a change of clothes or coffee or food full of sugar."

Angela shot her a pointed look. "Humor me, will you? This is another one of those _girly_ experiences I'm always trying to give you, okay? When girls talk about potential romantic partners, they need ice cream."

"Is this one of those times in which it would be better not to ask and simply do as you say?"

Angela beamed. "Absolutely. Now, change into these sweatpants I brought for you. I brought a blanket for your floor. I'm going to set up our comfort food."

"I still don't see why it's necessary for me to change my pants."

"It's just part of the mood, sweetie. Besides, those sweats will be much more comfortable after we gorge ourselves on ice cream."

"This is ridiculous."

"No," Angela protested with a smile, "_This_ is something I haven't really done since college, and it's fantastic."

"Are you implying that the way I'm handling this situation is akin to college girls? I take offense to that-"

Angela sighed. "Don't read too much into this. I haven't had the opportunity to do this since college is the more appropriate explanation."

"I don't know what that means."

"It's alright, don't worry about it."

By then, Brennan had changed, and had walked to the other end of her office to shut the door. She altered the lights so they were dim, but cast enough light, and switched the music on her computer from classical to the softer pop music Angela had insisted on transferring onto her hard drive. "Am I correct," she asks, "in assuming this is more appropriate for the situation?"

Angela grins. "You're learning! I'm so proud."

"I have a steep learning curve. You know that."

"I know." Angela dipped her spoon generously into the cookie dough. "Now, will you _please_ start from the beginning?"

"I am unclear as to what you consider 'the beginning'-"

"_Breeeen_," Angela groans, "Start from the beginning of whatever happened between you two in Florida."

Dipping her own spoon into the other end of the cookie dough, Brennan begins, "We had some spare time three nights ago at Sea World. We were waiting for the FBI's clearance to gather some final evidence and finish the paperwork on the case. Booth and I were wandering the park with the managers, informing them on some of the last details when we passed the dolphin exhibit."

"You were drawn to them because of your mother."

Licking the spoon after her last scoop, Brennan taps the spoon against her teeth. "Yes. They reminded me of her, and I was feeling unusually nostalgic, so I sat in the underwater viewing section. I was contemplating exactly what it is about dolphins that my mother loved so much, and I started considering the similarities in social structure between dolphins and humans. Booth found me there."

"Did you tell him why you were sitting there?"

"I didn't have to. He knew. I was taken aback with the kindness and affection in which he told me I am more like my mother than I realize, and I asked him why he's always so nice to me."

"Is that the first time you've asked him that?"

"No, it's not, actually. Later, he told me the reason why he told me that he loves me is because he can't keep lying forever when I ask him that question. After I asked him that question this time, he responding by confessing his love for me."

"Awww, Brennan. That's so sweet."

Brennan was silent.

"Was that all that happened?"

"No, of course not. I… I reacted poorly to his admission. I can't honestly tell you that I was completely surprised, but I still wasn't expecting it. I didn't know what I was supposed to do, or what I wanted to do. Booth assured me repeatedly that he wasn't expecting anything from me, that all he wanted was for me to know the truth."

"You didn't believe him, did you?"

"No, I didn't. It is not _logical_ to be satisfied with something like that. So I pushed, and Booth admitted that he wanted to give a relationship between the two of us a 'chance', but he hadn't planned on broaching the topic that night."

"Why not?"

"I still wish I knew for sure. He kept repeating that he did not want me to feel pressured, that his intention was never to spontaneously bring up the idea. 'I just wanted you to know, Bones. I can't lie to you forever'. That's what he said. Whether or not he intended to do so, Booth asked me to give him a chance. To give a relationship between us a chance, and I told him that I'm not a gambler, that _he's_ the gambler. Booth said that he was sure he will still love me in 30 or 40 or 50 years, and he deserves someone who can promise him the same, Angela, but I can't do that. I can barely promise tomorrow. He's only going to get hurt if he focuses all of his energy on me, so I told him that I can't, except that I did hurt him, I'm not _that _oblivious."

"What did Booth say, when you rejected him?"

"That he doesn't expect me to change, and that he doesn't want me to. He told me that I am 'perfect just the way I am', although he's obviously exaggerating again. No one is perfect."

"To him, you are."

"That's ridiculous."

"Let me ask you a few things. First, what kind of person do you envision as 'right' for Booth romantically?"

"Someone intelligent, quick-witted, physically strong and mentally grounded so as to keep up with him. Someone who knows how to have an open heart. Someone who will appreciate him."

"_You_ are _all_ of those things, Bren, don't you see? You are one of the most intelligent people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. You are by far one of the strongest, both mentally and physically. You have an enormous heart, even when you choose not to recognize that. You always make Booth laugh, and smile, and you appreciate what is important to him, even when you don't agree. You give yourself to him every time you let him win an argument just to please his 'alpha-male tendencies' and when you let him take care of you even though you can clearly take care of yourself."

"I do not have an 'enormous' heart, Angela, my heart is proportional to the average size-"

"_That_ is what you took from that speech? _Metaphorically_, you have the open heart you so vehemently deny. You have already been giving yourself to Booth. When Sweets told you both that you've been involved in a surrogate relationship, he was dead-on. How long have I been telling you that you and Booth are a couple without the sex? You know I wouldn't lie to you. Choosing to make your relationship with Booth official would only be a natural step. You've been having dinner with him four or five nights a week, he drags you out of your office at night to take you on dates that he never calls dates, you spend Saturdays with him and Parker, he's the first person you run to when you need something, even ahead of me. As long as we are discussing "traditional" relationships and who is perfect for whom, what more evidence do you need?"

Brennan's eyes widen in realization and the two friends sit in silence for many minutes before she finally whispers, "I have never thought about my relationship with Booth from that perspective."

"When Booth admitted that he wants to be in a relationship with you, what scared you so much?"

"I _told you_," Brennan argues harshly, "I'm not afraid. I simply recognize that I am not the type of person Booth will want to love, or have love him, in 50 years. I'm not sure I can commit to that. I'm against the institution of marriage. All these things he wants – I can't give them to him. I was protecting him."

"You, Temperance Brennan, were protecting yourself just as much as you were protecting him, but it failed either way."

"Excuse me?"

"It failed. You both got hurt."

"He'll move on."

"Did he say that?"

"No."

"Everything you say Booth wants. Did he tell you he wants those things?"

"Not directly, but-"

"No buts, sweetie. No offense, but you still have a lot of learning to do when it comes to reading between the lines."

"You're right, you know. Booth did get hurt. I could clearly see it a few nights ago. He told me we would discuss it further after we returned to D.C., but we haven't, and every time I see him he looks… he looks so sad. I just want him to be happy."

"Oh, sweetie. You do love him."

"I never said that."

"You don't have to. I know, it's there. When you keep your own feelings to yourself and learn to live with them because you are trying to ensure someone else's happiness, that is love."

"Did you ever stop loving Hodgins?"

"No, Bren. Not for a second. For so many months I denied that; I tried to convince myself, and him, and everyone else that I was over him, but I never was."

"Did you ever regret not trying harder to fix your problems with him sooner?"

"Every day. Every day I regretted not fighting harder for us. Every day I wondered if I had lost the most wonderful thing in my life. Every day, I felt that sadness."

"What about Roxie? Do you regret giving your relationship with her a second chance?"

Angela's smile was melancholy; it did not reach her eyes. "I'll never regret that chance, no. I'm sorry that I hurt her a second time, I'm sorry that she hurt me, but she's also taught me many things throughout the years of us knowing each other. Roxie is wonderful, but we weren't right together. She knew that before I did."

Absently twirling her spoon in the empty container, Brennan continues, "And Wendell?"

Angela laughs without humor. "You certainly know how to ask the rough questions. I don't regret that either. We still weren't right together, though."

"When you and Hodgins reconciled, did that ease your feelings of guilt?"

"Sure, the guilt, the regret, the sadness, they all lessened, but I still feel it all. I still wonder about the lost time. Don't spend the next few months wondering about missed chances. Please don't. You deserve better. He deserves better."

"I don't want to lose Booth, Angela. If we aren't right."

Discarding her drink and her spoon, Angela moves a little closer to Brennan, to drive her point home. "If Booth finds someone else, if he finds another woman who will give him her everything, and he loves her and has the chance to marry her, he will. You'll lose him then, sweetie. You can have all of him, you know. He's been giving you as much of him as you wanted, and a little more, for so long. If you want to keep that, you have to give him something in return."

"I feel that I want to love him the way he says he loves me. I want to give him everything. I just don't know how."

"None of us really do, not completely. But we learn. Through trial and error and patience and love, we learn. You will too."

"I can understand trial and error. Trial and error is essential to any experimental process. Even failed trials teach us something. Failed trials are pivotal to any eventual success."

"Think of this as an experiment, then. It's what you know how to do."

Brennan finally looks away from Angela's piercing gaze. "I'm fairly certain Booth won't think my viewing of our relationship as an 'experiment' as very romantic."

"That's true, but I'm just as certain that he won't mind."

"If I do this," she whispers, "This is an experiment that can't fail."

"Aww, look, Brennan, you just made a metaphor!"

"What?"

"Never mind. The bottom line is, if you subtract all variables, the extraneous information, what you cannot control, can you envision yourself with Booth? Do you see yourself together with him? Do you want to be with him?"

"Over the past few days…" Brennan begins, pacing around the room, "I have come to the conclusion that I am definitely not opposed to the thought. I like his symmetrical features very much. I like his smile even more. I enjoy spending time with him, and Parker, and I trust him. He does make me happy. So yes… I suppose I do."

Trying to keep her hopes low, for the time being, Angela digs in to the last of the ice cream. "So take the plunge. Don't short yourself out. But whatever you decide, I've got your back."

"I don't know what _any_ of that means."

"It means I will support you, all the way. You will always have me."

Kneeling down next to her best friend, overcome with emotion, Brennan rests her chin on Angela's head and says, "I always have, haven't I?"

The clock was barely striking 1:38am on a cool summer morning when Temperance Brennan decided that, just maybe, it would be alright to let herself fall.

...

She knocks on his door at 2:54am. Somewhere in between Angela leaving the Jeffersonian to return home to Hodgins and Brennan resolving to tell the truth, the skies had opened and it was pouring rain.

"Bones? What are you doing here? Are you alright? You're soaking wet – come inside."

"You mean very much to me, Booth," she pants as he ushers her inside, "You are more important to me than I know how to properly describe. I do not even feel as though the term 'best friend' is adequate anymore. I have been able to consider you family before I could even consider my father and Russ family. You are my partner. The two times in our partnership in which I have been seen my life without you in it, I was very distressed. I _cannot_ take a chance on that. I cannot take a chance on losing one of the most important relationships in my life. I was angry with you for suggesting it."

Confused and not quite sure where the night is headed, Booth sits them both down on the couch and decides it's best to stay right with her in the conversation. "Hey, Bones, after Parker, _you_ are the most important person in my life, too. I only asked for a chance because we have to start somewhere, but this means more to me than just a chance, too."

"A chance implies failure."

"You won't ever lose me. I've made that promise to you already, and I won't break it."

"Even if we aren't right?"

"Even then, but I'm certain we are."

Wringing her hands nervously, Brennan points out, "Angela believes that Sweets was right about our surrogate relationship. She says that we have been dating without calling our activities dating."

Fully aware of this, and in agreement with it himself, he asks, "Do you agree with that?"

"The activities I engage in with you are far more intimate than what I normally engage in with my dates."

"Shouldn't that be proof enough?"

She stands up, too unsettled to remain sitting. "What if I can never love you the way you love me?"

Booth is beginning to regret trying to keep up with her without asking for some clarification. In disbelief, he fumbles to reassure her. "I believe that you can. But if not, I'll have to learn to accept that."

"Why? Why would you make such a deep sacrifice?"

"Listen. I told you that I love you for who you really are. Who you really are is a woman who has more of an open heart than she wants to admit, who is logical and analytical and sees the truth in the world by stripping away the nonsense. This leaves you open to many social experiences, but maybe not love, because you have not been faced with much proof. Loving you means accepting all of that. I have two choices. I can embrace the facts, and be there for you, or I can move on. I don't want to move on, I want you. Especially when I think you want this too. You told me once that you wanted to feel the emotional connection that the rest of us do. It requires chance, and fear and pain and trust, but it ends in something wonderful. Besides, the fact that you are more worried about my happiness than yours tells me so much."

She laughs. "Angela said the same thing."

"Angela's a very wise woman. Do you trust her? Do you trust me?"

"I trust you both," she assures, finally turning to face him, and sounding offended that he would even question it.

"You may not believe in your heart, but I do. So believe in me. Trust me to believe in this relationship for the both of us until you can."

At a loss for words, and feeling a distinct, innate temptation to run again, she approaches the couch and grabs his shirt in her hands and kisses him. Booth freezes in surprise for a moment before resting his hands on her waist. Their kiss lasts for more than just a few steamboats.

When they break apart they are breathless, and Brennan tries to catch her breath while Booth stands, very still, his hands still on her waist, afraid to move as though she would disappear if he did.

"I care for you very deeply," she begins, "but there are certain things I can't say right now. I can give you all I have. One day at a time. Put my heart into overdrive… right?"

Booth lets out a breath. A brilliant smile threatens to take over his face, but he struggles against it, still believing the moment too good to be true.

"One step at a time. That's all I want, Temperance."

She kisses him again, and Booth does smile brightly.

"I could get used to that response," he grins, and when Brennan smiles at him, he laughs and pulls her close to him, thinking that he never wants to let her go again.

"What do we do next?" she asks finally.

"We do whatever we want. We can be whatever we want. It's what we've always done."

...

_July 21__st_

Though Booth isn't looking forward to the conversation regarding their partnership, he's expecting it, and is proud of Brennan for waiting a few days into their official relationship before bringing it up. True to her form, she brings up the subject bluntly at the diner over breakfast.

"Whatever the FBI decides to do with us," she starts, "I'm not ready to deal with that yet. Though I have come to the possible conclusion that our personal connection is just as important, or moreso, than our professional one, there is a flaw in that conclusion; a large portion of who we _are_ is professional. I don't want to give that up. I've told you before that you are the only FBI agent I want to work with. I meant that."

"Hey," he takes her hand in his, "You don't have to be ready. It hasn't even been a week. We're nowhere near ready to reveal-" he gestures between them with his free hand, "-this."

"I agree. Besides that, would you mind if we kept… this… between us for now?"

"Of course not. I agree with you."

"You do?"

"Of course. You, Bones, are my _partner_. In every sense of the word. I don't want to give this up either. I am going to do every little thing I can possibly think of to ensure are continued partnership, but I'm not sure I'm ready to deal with that either. So let's not. Let's approach it your way."

"Through evidence?"

"Exactly. Besides, I know you want some time to enjoy this before everyone hounds you, and so do I."

"I'm sorry, Booth. I don't want you to think I'm ashamed."

"I don't. I feel the same way you do. What's between us is ours, always, but once the squint squad knows, that's going to become a lot harder. Besides, sneaking around is kind of hot, don't you think?"

/

**August – December, 2010**

They did not wait very long after beginning their romantic relationship to have sex. The urge to relieve years of sexual tension had been strong in them both, and Brennan, of course, disregarded any of the stigma placed by society on couples who had a previously strong relationship engaging in intercourse too soon.

Booth may have been concerned, but they first night they have sex, in the second week of their relationship, he is too caught up in the moment, elated with the positive direction of their relationship change, and certainly turned on by his beautiful girlfriend. Angela had convinced the group to go dancing one Friday night, and Brennan shows up in a sexy, knee-length deep purple dress, her eyes smoky and her hair lightly curled. She wears his favorite pair of her black pumps – the pair she wore with Roxie's dress, all those years ago.

Brennan hasn't seen him in suits beyond his work suits as of late, and the casual outfit he wears, she thinks, emphasizes his symmetrical features in a way she never would have considered. Angela and Brennan dance together a few times, and Brennan dances with Hodgins once, but mostly Brennan and Booth take advantage of the night and the excuse to, physically, be close together.

Their mutual desire defeats their will to keep their status mostly a secret, for now, twice that night. The first time they attempt to discretely sneak away to the corner by the bathrooms, Angela winks at them, but manages to keep the rest of the group occupied. In a frenzy, they passionately kiss for minutes but Booth is careful to keep her hair and make-up intact. The second time they sneak away it is near the end of the night, and Booth is less careful.

Their goodbyes are hurried, but neither really notices. They start tearing each other's clothes off the minute Brennan shuts and locks her door. It is anguished and passionate, and they go at it three times that night to satisfy their desires. Though bogged down from the build-up and tension neither chose to acknowledge for years, it is still sensational, but does not 'break the laws of physics'.

The first time they _do_ break the laws of physics, it is three in the morning on Sunday. Booth wakes up in the early morning and as soon as he realizes Brennan is no longer next to him, he gets up and finds her on the couch in his living room, wearing one of his old FBI shirts and curled up under his Philadelphia Flyers blanket, reading on her laptop.

He comes up behind her, curls his arms around her shoulders and kisses her head, and asks if she'd been having trouble sleeping. She explains that she'd been feeling restless all day, and it must have followed her into the night. Booth cheekily suggests that she put her unfocused energy into better use than the anthropology journals he's noticed on her screen.

Brennan agrees and makes good on her word. They never move from his couch, and it was a mundane night but Booth's hands are warm on her skin and the energy she does put into him that night has them both hot and breathless relatively quickly. After it is over, they lay tangled together near the far end, out of breath, metaphorically seeing stars.

The first time Brennan tells Booth that she loves him, the words come to her as naturally as the rising sun. He accompanies her to another TV interview, and he discretely stands off-camera behind the interviewer, facing her and making ridiculous faces and hand-gestures she doesn't understand. His actions keep her smiling and light-hearted, and she even makes her interviewer, and the cameraman, laugh twice. After she is finished, she wraps her arms around him and he kisses her, whispering sincerely how wonderful she was. After their kisses, she digs her fingers into his hair and whispers, "I love you." Booth smiles and is left speechless, his hands never leaving her back, so she presses her forehead into his and repeats, "I love you." She can't explain it but when he gasps and pulls her closer, she feels her chest tighten, and her only desire is to keep that smile on his face.

The first time Brennan realizes that she may be able to commit herself fully to Booth the way he's committed to her, she is delivering an ultimatum to the FBI. She would never give up her career, but she certainly doesn't need the money, and she is qualified enough that if she left the Jeffersonian, she'd be able to find another position in a flash, so she tells Cullen, point-blank, that if they sever her partnership with Booth due to the change in their relationship, she will refuse to work with them, even leaving the Jeffersonian if she has to. Booth protests, of course, and Cullen testily challenges her willingness to carry through with the threat, but she stands her ground because she will not work with any other agent but will not end their relationship, either, and she refuses to compromise in this regard. In the end, Cullen agrees to allow them to continue working with each other as long as they continue to see Sweets and their solve rate does not change, but Brennan tells Booth just how serious she was, and how easy it was for her to give that ultimatum. She'd do it all over again if necessary.

The first time Brennan realizes that, if she ever believed in forever, she would want Booth to be in it, she hugs him tightly to her after he lets himself into her apartment on a Saturday afternoon, weak with this feeling so powerful she could barely keep herself standing. When he asks her what's wrong, all she can do is repeat that she loves him and that she would stay in his arms forever if it was practical. They make love into the night. They break the laws of physics. Brennan is so scared by the truth of her feelings that she stays awake in Booth's arms all night, listening to his heartbeat.

/

**September 2010**

Late nights and early mornings were the times of day that changed the most. Weeks into their official romantic relationship, they started staying with each other at night. Brennan would insist her reasoning was based solely on convenience, while Booth would argue that it was one last major step in a significant relationship they hadn't previously taken.

Brennan took comfort in the fact that most things stayed the same. Booth still picked her up for work on many occasions, armed with coffee and plenty of inane chatter for their ride to either the Jeffersonian or the Hoover. They had lunches together, sometimes at the diner and sometimes in either of their offices. Booth still dragged her out of her office at night for a quick dinner, or brought her take-out in the lab or to her apartment.

Booth started surprising her with more fancy dinners out. When he did so, he would take her home and tell her to change before taking her to dinner. On a few occasions, they went out dancing. When they went out with the team on Friday nights for drinks, Booth would swing his arm around her shoulder and she would lean into him, struggling to keep herself in check when all she wanted to do was ravish him.

Instead of either of them leaving the other's apartment far past midnight just to see each other at work early most mornings, they would fall asleep together, usually in bed, but sometimes on the couch. Brennan usually woke first, and when she did, she'd wiggle herself out of his tight embrace and laugh at his grumblings, then start the coffee pot and shower before waking up her partner with feather-light kisses and touches that seared his skin.

She'd usually leave in the mornings before him, and on the mornings when they rode together she'd constantly nag him about being late, but she found he didn't mind waking up earlier so much if she was the one to wake him, and it was easier for her than anticipated to alter her morning routine to accommodate him.

On the nights when she came home late, sometimes she'd find him already at her apartment, singing loudly while cooking dinner, or lounging on her couch with a beer and the paper, just waiting to see her. Sometimes she liked to surprise him similarly at his place.

Gradually, the nights in which they went their separate ways would lessen. Brennan would be surprised the most by the depth of her loneliness on some of the nights when she wasn't with him. She'd always assumed that she would never feel more lonely than she had during her years in the foster system, but she'd greatly underestimated the warmth of his presence, even at the start of their relationship. Just as Booth had forcefully snuck into her life, he was secured enough in her routine that she preferred him to be there. She struggled with that change for the first few months, and it led to a few arguments, but in the end, her desire won out over her past ways, and she began to understand the things Booth had been trying to convince her of for years.

/

**October 2010**

_October 18__th_

Booth and Brennan had successfully kept their squad guessing on the nature of their relationship for exactly two months and 16 days. Just like the change in their relationship, the appropriate time to reveal themselves to their friends came naturally, subtle, yet with spunk.

The Jeffersonian team was gathered at the Hoover with Caroline, reviewing the details for a case. Booth had been pleading with her to pull some strings for a warrant, hoping the squint squad would be able to help him find some evidence. The truth was that they needed the warrant to find the evidence, but Hodgins was always willing to cheat the system.

"No," Caroline huffed at Booth finally, organizing her file folders in a clear signal that she was, at the moment, through. "I'm sorry, but you know me better than that, Cherie. If you want me to do this, you are going to need more solid evidence than that, and it's going to cost you."

"Caroline-" Booth began, knowing Hodgins would be ready to back him up, but he stilled when he felt Brennan's hand on his shoulder, soft but commanding.

"I've got this, Booth," Brennan says smoothly, glancing at Cam, who shrugs her approval for Brennan to take a shot. "Give me another hour with the remains, Caroline, and I will find, in the most literal sense, more solid evidence that may suit your needs. But if it is a bribe you are looking for, I believe I have one more than sufficient. My only stipulation is that what is about to happen here does not leave this room. Understood?"

Booth smiled proudly at Brennan's successful silencing of the room, except, of course, for Caroline, who huffed, "You've got it, Cherie. I'm intrigued."

After a nod from Booth, Brennan, standing next to where he sat, leans down, takes his face in her hands, and plants a kiss on his lips so deep it quickly progressed beyond the acceptable PDA margin. Brennan knew it was time to stop when Booth's hands moved from her chest to her waist. She was worried about both of their already weakened self control.

Breaking their kiss off, Brennan affectionately slides her hand from Booth's shoulder to his heart, then, with a smirk, walks away from him. "Was that enough steamboats, Caroline?"

"Cherie," Caroline was almost speechless, "_That_ was the freaking Titanic." She dramatically fanned herself with her hand. "You're good, Dr. Brennan. Forget that hour with the bones; you're getting all the warrants you want today. Agent Booth, maybe you should let your scientist handle negotiations more often."

Brennan interrupted, "I am not _his_ scientist, despite what he repeated many times last night-"

After another moment of silence, Cam snickered, then laughed out loud, Hodgins grinned and slapped Booth on the shoulder with a cheery, "Way to go, G-man!", Angela squealed and moved to hug her best friend, Vincent and Daisy were looking at each other awkwardly, and Sweets sat, utterly dumbfounded, to the point where Booth was convinced the whole stunt was worth it just to see the look on the psychologist's face.

...

_October 20__th_

True to the form that Angela's father would approve of, when word reaches Max Keenan that Booth and his daughter have taken the romantic plunge, so to speak, Max waits patiently for his daughter to be ready to announce the news to him, all the while plotting the most effective method to threaten Booth, make him understand just how serious this is.

Brennan calls him one Friday afternoon inviting him for dinner and to come watch Booth's hockey game the next day. Max can see right through her, despite what she wants to believe. She's hoping that he'll have enough respect for Booth's athletic obligations to go easy on the man. Well, if either of them thought they were going to get off with a simple cheerful blessing before he was on his way, they both had another thing coming.

Max arrives at his daughter's apartment promptly at 6:15PM on Saturday. The smell of eggplants and fire-roasted tomatoes invades his senses as soon as he reaches the door. Brennan is expecting him; he only knocks twice before she greets him, opening the door with a smile and hugging him, seeming genuinely happy to see him. Max can't help but feel warm at his daughter's rare greeting and he hugs her tightly and kisses her cheek. "Hey, Tempe," he whispers before reaching around her to shake Booth's hand. "Agent Booth."

The agent grins at him, then motions to take his coat. "Why so formal, Max? Want a beer?"

"I like to shake things up a little," Max explains, "And sure."

Booth hands him a cold one from the fridge. "How have you been lately?"

"Oh, you know," Max's attention is more focused on the signs of his daughter's apartment than the small talk from her partner. "Same as usual, really."

Booth's gesture to take his coat, rather than Brennan, was not lost on him. There were perhaps no _overtly_ obvious signs of their changed relationship status, but Max had been to his daughter's apartment enough to tell the difference. She had two coffee cups placed carefully next to her coffee machine on her counter rather than one. A blanket that looked suspiciously like a Philadelphia Flyers blanket was neatly folded under her coffee table. When Booth had opened the fridge to fetch him a beer, he'd noticed chocolate milk – Brennan had never liked chocolate milk very much, even as a child.

Was that – yes, she had a 42", high-definition plasma TV in her living room. When had she bought a TV?

With a grin, Max sipped his beer and turned his attention back to the partners in question. Booth had taken over parts of the preparation for his daughter, likely to give her time to catch up.

Never one to let his observations slide, Max raises his eyebrows and asks, "Am I correct in assuming you have invited me here to tell me that you two have finally decided to stop dancing around each other like a pair of moths around a flame?"

Booth chokes on his beer, while Brennan keeps her cool. "What would lead you to propose such a conclusion?"

Her father's grin grew wider. "You bought a TV, Tempe. You don't watch TV."

"Well," she attempts to retort, "Perhaps Booth has convinced me that a TV would be beneficial so as I can more conveniently keep informed on current news events."

Max laughed out loud. "Booth's convinced you of _something_, Tempe, but I don't think it was to buy a TV."

"That's true," Booth agrees weakly, "She bought the TV because she got tired of me pestering her on Sunday mornings while she's writing."

Max raised an eyebrow again. "Sunday mornings, eh?"

Laughing when Booth turned bright red, Max shot his gaze back towards Brennan, who chastises, "Don't tease him, Dad."

"Nah," Max brushes her off, "I think teasing Booth here is going to become my favorite pastime. So, Tempe, wanna fill me in as to how Booth convinced you to bring me here and tell me so formally? I'd bet my stars that you would have been satisfied with a phone call. Or a card on my birthday."

"I think he assumed that a formal notification on the status of our relationship would ease your alpha-male tendencies and overdeveloped sense of "duty" as a protective father. I do have to admit that I am impressed you have managed to intimidate him in the slightest, seeing as Booth's alpha male tendencies are quite firmly developed as well. I will note that he was probably wrong in assuming this meeting would help his case."

"Hey!" Booth protests weakly. "I'm _right here_, you know!"

"I'm sure you have nothing to fear, Booth," she tries to reassure, "If my father wanted you dead, he would have taken care of you already."

Max laughs. "I would have taken care of him _years_ ago."

Dinner passes with relative ease, the topic of their newfound relationship mostly placed on the backburner. It is when his daughter is securing their seats and Booth is headed towards the locker rooms that Max corners him with a strong hand to his shoulder to steady him.

"In all seriousness, Booth," Max begins as Booth turns to solidly meet his gaze, "I realize that have made countless suggestive remarks in the past regarding you and Tempe, and I do stand by my previous encouragements for you two to finally make good on all that sexual tension. I am genuinely happy for both of you. You two are a force unto each other, but at least it's a positive one. But you listen to me, son. You, of all people, have helped show me the depth of her difficulties in trusting others as you have proved to her that it is okay to do so. After everything you have done to show her it is okay to trust and _love_ you, if you do something to fuck that up, I swear-"

"Max." Booth threw his girlfriend's father off his rhythm by interrupting him with a single touch to his arm, his will hard as steel. "I know. Trust me, I _know_. If I mess this up with Bones, you will be joining Angela, Hodgins, Russ, and Sweets, among others, in personally making my life a living hell, but what you really need to know is that if I mess this up, I will never forgive myself. I won't need anyone to help make my life miserable. I made a promise to her, and myself, that I would never be someone who loved her and left. I swear to you that I will spend every waking moment showing her that I will hold to all the promises I've made to her over the years."

They stare each other down in silence for many moments before Max releases the agent from his grasp and pats him on the shoulder. "You're a good man, Booth," he murmurs, "Don't let her push you away."

"I have been fighting for her from day one. I won't quit. But if it satisfies your so-called "overdeveloped protective fatherly instincts", I'll invite you to feel free to rip me a new one if I ever so much as hint of it."

After the game is over and Booth has returned to the locker room to change, Max takes his turn with his daughter. Knowing she is not one either for long speeches or being told what to do with her life, he simply whispers to her, "Let him be there for you in all the ways no one else really can be, honey."

To his surprise, she turns to him and smiles softly. "I'm trying, Dad."

/

**November 2010**

Seeley Booth is not a complicated man when it comes to the things he believes make everyday life worth living. When asked, he will say that his favorite things, in precisely the following order, include Parker and Brennan, hockey, football, beer, most other sports, relentlessly teasing his favorite squint-squad, and apple pie.

Brennan decides that she wants to do something special for Booth, just because she can, just because she loves to see him smile and because she strongly desires to reciprocate all the times he's done something for her just because. Brennan brings this up to Angela, who smiles softly and tells Brennan she thinks it's a wonderful idea, and as long as she acts like the alpha female she is and keeps Booth in mind, her partner is going to be blown away by her all over again.

Brennan knows Booth's favorite things and this fact makes it very easy for her to plan a special weekend. She knows he's going to have Parker the weekend of November 20th. She's not quite sure what prompts her to think of checking the schedule at the Verizon Center, but something does, and a quick search online tells her that the Washington Capitals have a home game against the Philadelphia Flyers on November 20th. She finds three available seats together in Section 101 behind the visitor's bench, and immediately calls Rebecca's cell to ask if she minds if she and Booth, although it will be a surprise for him too, take Parker to the game. Rebecca laughs lightly and assures Brennan that although she appreciates that Brennan has enough respect for her to call, she doesn't need her permission to be around Parker. Rebecca respects the anthropologist, and knows how much her son loves her, and quite frankly Rebecca sees no reason to expect Brennan and Booth to change their routine with Parker simply because they have now made official what Rebecca has suspected for years.

She adds, however, that she is positive Booth and Parker will love the surprise and be talking about it for weeks. Brennan laughs and agrees. Rebecca tells her that she will be sure to discretely pack Parker proper clothing for the game, including his Flyers jersey and his favorite Flyers hat that Booth gave him for his birthday two years ago.

Brennan asks Wendell who Booth's favorite Flyers player is. Angela overhears the question, and when Brennan explains to her best friend her plans for Parker and Booth, Angela insists that she help Brennan online shop for Flyers gear for herself. "You can't go to a hockey game and not be obviously supporting a team, Bren!" she exclaims. Brennan finds a jersey-material three-quarter length sleeve tee sporting the name and number of Booth's favorite player on the back. For good measure, she searches for a hat similar to Parker's and buys that, too.

Parker and Booth arrive at her apartment early the morning of November 20th. She's been up for hours already; she's showered, checked her email, and has set her table with dishes and is working on breakfast when they arrive. She's put the tickets in a sealed envelope and placed them next to the empty coffee mug Booth likes to use when he is at her place. While Brennan is pouring chocolate milk for Parker and patiently listening to his stories about the night before, Booth is pouring his coffee and notices the envelope. With a nonchalant shrug, Brennan tells him to open it, and she returns her attention to the pancakes with Parker's help.

Booth stares at the tickets for a moment before he shouts, 'Are you serious!' and when Brennan laughs, he walks up beside her and kisses her hard on the mouth.

Brennan pulls away, protesting, 'The pancakes are going to burn, Booth-"

"I can't believe you – I can't – how did you – I can't believe you got us tickets to the game tonight."

Brennan smiles shyly. "You're happy then?"

"Of course I'm – how can you even ask me that question?"

"What's going on?" Parker insists, bouncing on his heels around his father and his father's girlfriend. Brennan gives her partner the nod, so Booth ruffles his son's hair and exclaims, "Bones is taking us to the Capitals – Flyers game tonight, buddy."

"REALLY?" Parker shouts, bouncing on his heels again.

"Yeah, bud."

Parker turns to Brennan and says, "It's not anyone's birthday."

With a smile, Brennan touches her hand to his head. "That's true. However, I know how much you and your father love hockey and the Philadelphia Flyers, and I thought it would be an enjoyable experience."

"Daddy!" Parker insists, "Daddy, you have to take me back home, I don't have my jersey or my hat-"

"Check your bags, Parker," Brennan interrupts, "Your mother put a few surprises in there herself."

"Okay!" As Parker dashes to his bags on top of Brennan's couch, Booth turns to her again. "Rebecca was in on this?"

"I wanted to do something to make your weekend with Parker extra special. I'm glad you feel this is sufficient."

"This is… this is amazing, Bones. I can't believe you went through the trouble. I've only taken Parker to a hockey game once, and we were all the way up in the nosebleeds."

"I don't know what that means, and I hope you don't find it too presumptuous of me to come with you."

"Are you kidding? You're a part of this family. Besides, now _I_ can be the one who explains all the rules to you."

"I know the rules of hockey-"

"Daaaaad!" Parker shouts, running back into the room with a jersey much too big for himself. "Mommy packed your jersey, too! And your hat." Then he turned to Brennan. "What about you, Dr. Bones? Dad says you don't own any sports clothing."

Brennan smiled mischievously. "Don't worry, Parker. I've got it veiled."

"Covered, Bones," Booth explains, slipping his arms around her again and squeezing her waist, "You've got it covered."

...

After they have found their seats, Booth leaves Brennan and Parker to prep themselves for the start of the game while he buys a soda for Parker and beer for him and Brennan. When he returns, Brennan has taken off her coat and swapped her wool hat for the Flyers baseball cap. Booth, staring at his partner, almost drops the drinks.

"Have I told you lately how much I love you?" After giving Parker his soda, he sits down next to his son but leans over him to kiss her. "That's so hot, Bones," he whispers in her ear.

"I love you too," she replies softly, "Now, watch the game."

All three of them are quickly caught up in the excitement of the game, and Brennan, to Booth's pleasure, is by far the most vocal of all three, whether the Flyers have made a goal or the refs have made bad calls. The Flyers win the game and Parker and Booth are so pumped they talk about it the whole drive home.

After the excitement of the game, Sunday is spent in relaxation. Booth makes a run for coffee in the morning, stopping at Brennan's favorite espresso shop, and spends most the rest of the day playing video games with Parker while Brennan sits on the couch near them and works on her novel, although she takes a short break to take the

floor with both of them in Halo 3. As the late afternoon passes and the boys have switched to Mario Kart, she saves her latest work and closes her laptop. She makes them mac and cheese for dinner, along with a homemade apple pie. She even tastes the smallest amount of it to be sure it is up to Booth's standards.

Brennan learns just how meaningful small gestures of appreciation can be.

/

**December 2010**

After a discussion at the Jeffersonian about purchasing gag gifts for each other for the annual Christmas party, Brennan had expressed her desire to participate. Booth, of course, had insisted that she wouldn't understand the concept of a gag gift, but she had persisted, determined to prove him wrong. She'd already purchased his real gift weeks ago. It was currently safely wrapped and hidden away in her office.

She had never been concerned with finding a "real" gift for Booth. She found him easy to shop for and not at all subtle with his Christmas wishes. She knew his gag gift was going to be harder to find, but she found it only three days after their discussion when she was browsing around a quirky trinket shop with Angela, who had been looking for a gift for a cousin she barely knew.

When Brennan saw it, she laughed with delight, immediately drawing Angela's attention, who also laughed whole-heartedly when she saw Brennan's choice and suggested that she have it engraved.

One several-course meal and multiple glasses of spiked eggnog later, the team was properly joyous and light-hearted for the holidays, and Daisy insists they open gag gifts first. The interns had assigned themselves gag gifts for each other within their own circle, including Sweets, while Cam, Angela, Hodgins, Brennan, and Booth had assigned themselves to each other.

Brennan is so proud of herself that she insists Booth be the first to open a gift, and that it be hers. Still doubting his girlfriend's ability to properly choose one, Booth opens it quickly, and then stares at first in shock and then pride at what he sees, while Angela had to explain the joke to Cam.

Brennan had bought him an antique silver desk clock carved in the shape of a shoe. The back of the shoe was engraved:

_Seeley "Shoes" Booth_

"You win, Bones, you win!" Booth concedes, reaching across the table to cup her face in his hands and kiss her thoroughly.

"You know," she points out when they part, "I will be offended if I don't notice you using this clock in your office."

/


	4. Part IV: 2011

/

**Part IV: 2011**

"_It's many hundred miles and it won't be long"_

_/_

**January 2011**

_Grand Marais, Minnesota_

"_Booth_," Brennan chastises as she notices him speedily scribbling on his papers, "We are almost finished with the paperwork for this case. We were brought all the way out here for a reason. The least you could do is take it seriously."

"Aww, come on Bones," her partner whines, dropping his pencil and leaning back on the bed in their hotel room to stretch, "This is my first real chance to explore the Great Lakes – and Lake Superior, at that! You know, the inland sea? We are at a pinnacle of the northwoods experience here. It's such a waste to be holed up in this room filling out paperwork for what even you have to admit turned out to be a pretty ridiculous case."

"It's a nice hotel room," Brennan points out, "and I promised you we'd go ice fishing later, if you would just _focus_ now. Parker is better behaved than you."

"Ouch," Booth continues to whine, "I am _definitely_ better behaved than Parker."

"Parker always focuses."

"Parker doesn't have a frozen lake and sunlight and a beautiful woman sitting right in front of him – and speaking of _that_, he'd better not for a while, yet."

"I'm glad to see that your alpha male tendencies carry over to your attitude towards your son. I was worried you'd shift them solely to me and Parker would be free to 'drift the streets', so to speak."

"I think you mean 'roam the streets'", Booth lets out a yawn, then gazes at the remaining paperwork with disdain, "And trust me, Parker's not getting a high five for hooking up until… until… not for a long time."

"There's no need to worry, Booth, Parker has years of social development and harmless experimentation ahead of him before you'll have to accept him being se-"

"Geez, Bones! I'm talking kissing or holding hands or – Parker's still young!"

"Relatively speaking, yes, I agreed! But Parker is rapidly approaching an anthropologically-"

"Alright, alright, I give," Booth sighs, "You stop talking about my son like a textbook, and I'll finish up this paperwork – _properly_ – so we can go ice fishing."

"It's not _my_ fault you use the same colloquialism for multiple meanings," she mutters, eager to have the last word.

...

"I have to admit," Brennan murmurs as she turns her attention away from her tip-up and to Booth, "For the overall lack of patience you exhibit in most of your everyday life, you are demonstrating an impressive aptitude for it here. I find it somewhat akin to the actions of a lie-in-wait predator, except, of course, that your fishing rod is acting as your teeth."

Tipping his beer in her direction to acknowledge her, Booth replies, "It's ice fishing."

"That is not a proper response!"

"Sure it is," he smiles, "The whole game changes when you're fishing."

"Intellectually, I can understand that."

"What, you're not going to give me some lecture on how I should be more patient in my everyday life?"

"No," Brennan admits, "Mostly because your impatience can work in my favor, such as when we desire to leave a session with Sweets early or because I've sexually aroused you driving back to work from a case and you rush to finish your work in the office so you can come to mine and give Angela and Hodgins a little competition in the Egyptian room."

"Aw, Bones," Booth says while he shifts his fishing rod, "You're just trying to distract me, aren't you?"

"I see it's working regardless." She grins when she sees him shifting in his seat. "Remembering our lunch break from before the holiday break?"

Assured that his rod would be alright at the moment, Booth moves off his seat in the ice shack and stands behind his partner, circling his arm around her and kissing the top of her hat. "Whaddya say we have a little reenactment of that day when we get back to D.C.?"

"I find the thought of it very arousing," she agrees as she sets her rod on the ground and turns in Booth's arms, snaking her hand beneath his winter jacket around his neck and kissing him. "But I think we'll need to practice tonight, don't you?"

/

**February 2011**

"Sweetie," Angela began in a tone clearly indicating business as she poked her head into the kitchen where her best friend was helping her husband finish prepping their dinner, "Do you want to tell me the _real_ reason why you're here?"

Though Brennan doesn't look away from the pasta sauce, she at least, to her credit, sounds offended. "I _did_ give you the real reason, Ange. We've been thigh-deep in cases at work, and you've been busy preparing for the baby. It has been quite some time since we've spent time together just as friends, and I missed you."

Angela smirks and corrects, "That's 'knee-deep', and I've missed you too, but it's not the real reason."

Brennan doesn't reply, but Angela doesn't miss the twinge that crosses her friend's face as she corrects her mistake, and suddenly Angela thinks she understands. "You and Booth had a fight?"

"I never said that."

"No, but you didn't have to. You've been fidgety all night and very obviously trying _not_ to check your phone. I'm willing to bet my share of dinner that you are waiting for a text or a call from Booth, and trust me, I take bets on food _very_ seriously these days."

"She's right," Hodgins cuts in with laughter, "I mean, most of the time I don't even get _my_ share of the food."

"Sorry babe!" Angela laughs, looking guiltier than she sounds.

"Don't mention it," her husband responds, kissing her soundly and brushing a hand over her stomach before moving to finish setting the table, figuring he'd leave his wife and his boss to their "girl talk".

"Even if I _were_ waiting for Booth to contact me," Brennan huffs while washing her hands, "That doesn't necessarily mean we've fought."

With an indulgent half-smile, Angela tries to reason with her. "Agent Studly _always_ keeps tabs on you, moreso than is necessary."

"Perhaps he's finally learned that I can take care of myself, and don't need his constant hovering," Brennan snaps, leaving Angela in the kitchen shaking her head.

...

Angela chooses not to bring Booth up throughout dinner, and their conversation is friendly but she can tell that Brennan is distracted. She eats more slowly than normal and spends much of her time wringing her napkin in her hands. Close to half an hour after they sit down to eat, Hodgins nods to Angela that he'll start clearing the dishes and he says, "I'll go bring you ladies some ice cream, alright?"

"What did you fight about?" Angela asks again, softly, and Brennan tries to keep her composure but her voice breaks when she responds.

"I'm not even sure I know," she starts, with a touch of despair, wringing the napkin in her hands again. "I said… something wrong, but I'm not sure… and Booth usually _tells_ me when I say something wrong, but he's angry and he wouldn't even pick me up for lunch today-"

"Oh, sweetie," Angela soothes, "What did you say that has Agent Studly all worked up, hmmm?"

"It was-" she takes a breath in an attempt to compose herself. "Booth is very important to me, Angela. He's… he's the _most_ important person. He should know that. Although I have grown increasingly more comfortable showing my affections with him, I'm not… he should _know_ I'm not-"

Suddenly, the lightbulb flicks on in Angela's head. "This is about your impromptu appearance at the book store opening yesterday?"

Brennan sniffles. "Our relationship isn't exactly a secret, and if I'm directly asked about it, I won't deny that I'm with him. And yes, it is true that Booth and I were usually together even before we became a couple – but the implication that it would be odd for me to show up somewhere without him-"

"I understand, Brennan," she reassures, "You are still your own person and those TV crews were being huge, prying, nosy jerks when they asked why Booth wasn't with you, as if it was because there was a… problem. They're just doing it for publicity, and you shouldn't let it get to you, because who cares what they think? Booth should know better than to let it get to him either… but you _did_ sound a little harsh."

"I didn't mean to hurt his feelings. I didn't mean that I _don't_ want him to be around when he can. I assumed he would know the difference between what I said and-"

Brennan was cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing. Hodgins shouted that he'd take care of it, and Angela and Brennan sat in silence for a few moments, Brennan sniffling and Angela rubbing her arm, before they heard Booth's distinct tone asking if Brennan was there.

Brennan perked up when she heard his voice. With a touch to Angela's shoulder she stood from her chair and raced out of the kitchen. "Booth?"

"I'm sorry, Bones," he begins immediately, walking up to her, but physically keeping his distance. "I overreacted to your words yesterday. I'm an idiot. I know those reporters were making you uncomfortable, and far overstepping their boundaries, and I know you didn't mean it that way."

Brennan crushes herself to him, wrapping her arms tightly around him and resting her forehead on his shoulder. "I'm sorry too," she murmurs, her voice thick with unshed tears, "I love you, Booth. It's just-"

"Hey," he interrupted, rubbing her back and turning his head to kiss hers. "It's alright. Don't worry about it. Will you come home with me?"

"Let's go for dessert first," she suggests, and is relieved when his eyes light up.

"Apple pie?"

"Whatever you want," she assures, kissing him tenderly, then turning to Angela, who wasn't doing a very good job of pretending not to listen. "Thank you for dinner and letting me stay here for a while, Ange. I'm sorry to leave before dessert."

"That's alright, sweetie," she soothes, "You know you are welcome anytime, and I'm fairly certain that Junior here," she pats her stomach, "won't mind the extra serving of ice cream."

/

**March**** 2011**

The subject comes up on Brennan's lunch break. "Ready to get some grub?" Booth asks as he enters her office.

Without missing a beat, she continues typing. "'Grub' is the common name for many species of insect larvae, none of which we will be consuming today. I am ready to have lunch, however."

Shaking his head with a smile, he leans on her doorway. "Well, hurry up, then. If I don't get some food soon I probably _will_ eat your insect larvae."

"I've made an observation about our relationship," she begins casually as she shuts down her computer, and Booth's attention is immediately piqued. He knows that she loves him, and he knows that she's happy with how they've been, but it isn't very often that she talks about it.

"Oh?" He prompts, placing his hand, as always, at the small of her back as they leave the lab.

"I find that," she pauses shyly, "I find that I feel very comfortable with you, and have grown more accustomed to your presence than I would have ever thought possible. I especially find your presence comforting at night." She pauses again, but he squeezes her hand and kisses her cheek in encouragement. "Sometimes I find it unsettling when you aren't around at night, and considering the amount of time we spend together, I find it illogical to keep two places, so I want you to move in with me."

Despite all of her rules about displays of affection at work, he stops her, pulls her into his arms, and kisses her forehead and her nose before reaching her mouth, kissing her long enough to hear catcalls from Daisy and Angela.

"Should I consider that a 'yes'?" she asks when they part.

"You should consider that a resounding 'Hell Yes!'. I'll start packing as soon as you are ready."

"Come this weekend," she suggests, resting her head on his shoulder. "I'll have enough time between now and then to prepare. You've already taken over half of my drawers."

Pleased with himself, he rubs her back. "I have, haven't I? This will be great, I'll ask the gang if they want to come to my place on Friday night for pizza and beer and a packing party."

"I have a storage unit, so don't worry about anything that you want to keep."

"You have a storage unit?"

"Yes, it's only practical."

"Naturally," he laughs as they continue their walk out of the lab.

"And Parker will be okay with this?"

"Are you kidding me? We're never going to be able to get him out of your pool whenever it's my weekend."

Brennan grins. "Somehow I think his father may have no problems encouraging him."

As they exit the lab and reach his car, Booth tells Brennan as she is opening the door, "Just so you know, I hate the nights we aren't together, too."

/

**April 2011**

Brennan wanders into the Founding Fathers on a relatively quiet night. She'd promised Booth that she would wait around for him to be finished in a meeting; they were going to take a drive for dinner that night. Feeling unusually restless, Brennan had left the lab earlier than she would have liked after acknowledging that her productiveness levels were quite low, and had opted for a short drive instead.

Her decision to kill time in the Founding Fathers was spontaneous. As she wandered to the bar, she noticed Hodgins, of all people, sitting there.

"Hodgins," she greeted with some surprise, "What are you up to?"

"Hey, Dr. B.," he greeted with affection, "I'm waiting for Angie to finish up with an old friend." He nods towards his wife, who is standing up at a table with a woman Brennan doesn't recognize. "Kaylee and her went to school together; she was in town last-minute and looked up Angela. This is where they wanted to meet, so we're here. I was with them for a while," he assured, suddenly feeling the need to defend his current position, "But I think they needed some time for 'girl talk'."

Brennan nods at him in acknowledgement and takes the seat next to him. "Angela has mentioned Kaylee a few times before."

He grunts in acknowledgement while he stirs his drink. "What brings you here?"

"I'm waiting for Booth."

Though he does not verbally reply, Brennan thinks she recognizes his smile. Angela has given her the same smile on multiple occasions whenever she had mentioned Booth in what Angela called a "couple way".

"Penny for your thoughts?" she says, thinking of Booth as she says it.

Hodgins laughs. "You got that one right!"

"Booth has been teaching me."

"Leave it to the G-man." He finishes the rest of his beer in one swallow. "Don't murder me for this, Dr. B., but it's refreshing to see you and Booth together. He makes you happy."

She smiles softly. "Yes, he does. I make him happy, too."

"All those years ago," he whispers, "Did you write your letter to him?"

Brennan doesn't need to ask to know what letter he is referring to.

"Not only to him." She pauses for a good minute or so. She wasn't ever sure, back then, she'd be willing to discuss the situation, but it seems logical to discuss it with Hodgins, if anyone. "I wrote a short note for Angela. I wrote a short note for Russ. And, yes, my letter to Booth was… the longest of the three."

"You had faith in him."

He expects her to protest. She does, but not in the way in which he expects.

"I had hope. I may not have been ready to acknowledge that at the time… to anyone. But I had hope."

"Don't ever lose it."

"I won't."

Angela waves to Hodgins and Brennan at that point, and Hodgins motions to the bartender to pay his tab before he pats Brennan on the arm. "Guess that's my cue. See you tomorrow." Just as he begins to walk towards his wife, Brennan stops him with a touch to his hand.

"We have both evolved since we were trapped in that car together, Dr. Hodgins. But fundamentally… some truths haven't changed."

"Evolution doesn't change everything. But some truths may manifest themselves in different ways."

"I'm glad for it."

"Me too."

Brennan nods at him and he finishes the walk to Angela, wrapping an arm around her when he reaches her. Angela smiles warmly at him, then calls out to Brennan and motions for her to join them. She waves again in acknowledgement, but reaches for her phone to call Booth. She remembers the days of observing her friends with their lovers and knowing, intellectually, that she was missing something, but unable to relate, and so she'd return home alone. She remembers the days of observing her friends with their lovers and feeling envious, or sad, or regretful.

Now, she can observe Angela and Hodgins, and Cam and Paul, even Russ and Amy, and be happy for them, knowing exactly what they are experiencing, exactly what brings their smiles to light. She can observe them, and think of Booth, and find that tingling in her stomach and her throat can start just with the thought of him.

Just as she is dialing his number, she hears him call her name. Turning to look over her shoulder, she sees him hurrying towards her. He must have noticed her car.

"Start the night without me, Bones?" he asked, mostly joking, as he reaches her and takes her hand in greeting.

"Mmm, I didn't have much of a choice," she teases, "You were taking your time, and the night's not getting any earlier."

"_Younger_," he corrects, then kisses her, laughing at her teasing. "I should just make a list for you."

"And lose the pleasure I know you find in correcting me?"

"Listen to her, G-man," Hodgins cuts in as he and Angela approach the partners, "You can't one-up Dr. B. in many things, so you should keep what you do have."

"Thanks, Hodgins," Booth comments dryly.

"Do you two lovebirds want to eat with us," Angela suggests, "or are you too focused on hurrying home to that bottle of whipped cream in your bedroom?"

Laughing, Booth asks, "Whaddya say, Bones? I think it's dangerous to deny a pregnant lady."

"We were going to go for a drive," Brennan explains, "And find some place to eat along the way. Would you like to join us?"

"That sounds wonderful," Angela sighs, "How spontaneous and romantic." She playfully backhands Hodgins on his upper arm. "Why aren't you ever that spontaneous?"

With a sigh and an eye-twitch, Hodgins mutters, "Thanks a lot, G-man."

"Turnabout is fair play!" the agent exclaims, and the group heads out into the night.

/

/

/

The lyrics I have begun each of these parts with come from "Train Song" by Feist & Ben Gibbard.

Thanks to all my readers and reviewers :)

This isn't the end quite yet - there's one more part coming.


	5. Part V: Epilogue

/

**Part V: Epilogue**

"_Call out your name love, don't be surprised"_

_/_

**September 2011**

_Cape Cod, Massachusetts_

"Do you ever sit back and wonder how we got here?

Brennan, who is knee-deep in the water, turns her head over her shoulder to find her partner, who is standing to her left in the sand. "We drove here, Booth."

He laughs. "Too literal, Bones. I'm talking about _us_. Our partnership, our relationship, our lives."

Walking towards him, she replies, "Our previous individual experiences, together with the influence of the social environments we've lived in, have shaped our personalities and lives, leading us to the present."

"Yeah, thanks." Booth places his arm around her when she reaches him.

"Or," she continues, quieter this time, "You may prefer the explanation that our current relationship is the result of months of developed trust and friendship, sharing in each other's sorrow and joy, and affection, culminating from ostensibly peripheral moments into our current love and desire to be with one another."

"Did you just tell me that 'the little moments matter the most' in squint?"

"Yes, I believe I did. Angela's used that cliché before."

"That's deep for you, Bones."

"I _can_ be sentimental, you know," she defends, "I just haven't always seen the logic in it."

"You're saying you see the logic in it now?"

"I am reluctantly admitting that logic does not always lead to what is best for the individual. You taught me that. I didn't agree to being in a monogamous relationship with you because it was logical, Booth. I agreed to it because despite what was rational, I still wanted to."

"I'm glad you wanted to. Sometimes, I'm not sure myself how we got here. Sometimes I still have a difficult time believing it. All I know is, you've made me happier than I ever imagined I could be."

Not trusting her voice, she swallows the lump in her throat and buries her head in his shoulder. "I love you," she whispers, "Thank you for showing me it's okay."

"Thank you for letting me."

…..

They remain at the beach until twilight, despite the cool weather. Brennan has thought ahead, as usual, and there were plenty of extra blankets in the back of the SUV. She feels chilled, physically, and yet wrapped up in fleece on the sand, tucked in Booth's hoodie-clad arms, she feels warm. She silently berates herself for thinking metaphorically in this manner. _He's influenced you too much_, she thinks, yet she finds she would not change where they were – literally and figuratively – for anything.

Bathed in moonlight, they bask in the crisp cool air and the sounds of the waves. Booth briefly realizes that no moment they have ever had together at the beach has been insignificant. It's romantic, but he laughs a little when he imagines what his partner would say if he chose to point that out.

"Has it been worth it?" He asks her quietly, remembering a conversation they had once over beer and a half-eaten banana split.

"This vacation?" She questions, shifting herself in his arms to gaze up at him. "It's too early to properly assess the benefits versus inconveniences."

"I disagree," he murmurs, "but that's not what I'm asking. You love me."

She smiles softly, lovingly kissing his chin, then his nose, and finally his lips. "Yes, I do."

Caressing her gently, Booth kisses her deeply to the coming of the tide. When he pulls away, she settles again in his arms, turning again to face the water. "Has it been worth it?" he asks softly.

She does not face him, instead keeping her eyes on the water, but she squeezes his hand in her own. She thinks of conclusions without evidence.

"Yes."

**End**

Well, it wasn't necessarily my intention, but this wound up being worthy of a sugar warning. I'm going to place all of the blame for this on season six. I wrote almost all of this while the first half of the season was still airing, and I was just as tired of dealing with the drama as anyone else.

Thanks a bunch to everyone who stuck with me and read this entire thing through – it is pretty massive. Originally this was an indulgence in my curiosities of what life could have been like for Booth and Brennan if, as I stated, things had gone differently. It ended up running as deep as my typical indulgence in mint chocolate ice cream, or Hodgins' love for bugs, or the oceans. Also, thanks to everyone who has reviewed! I appreciate all of the feedback and kind words :)


End file.
